The Three Heads of the Dragon
by Tarja the wind witch
Summary: ASOIAF/MBoTF pastiche. A disturbance in the Warrens catapults Rud Elalle and Silichas Ruin on the Dothraki Grass Sea, just in time to meet Dany before she is discovered by khal Jhaqo's khalasar. A strange alliance is forged, which may change things for the better. Contains spoilers up to ADWD and all the MBoTF saga.
1. A Meeting of Dragons

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

******This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 20/05/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"**

**This might sound quite crack, but the two settings have a lot of points in common (dragons, the fight between Light and Dark, etc...) and I had been trying to concoct a longer crossover for ages.**

**It starts where ADWD left off and will probably extend into an original interpretation of TWOW and ADOS, trying to keep apace with the complexity of Martin's plotting. **

**As for the MBoTF side, it takes place at the end of DoD. The only two characters directly involved are Silchas Ruin and Rud Elalle AKA Ryadd Eleis, but many more are mentioned. The two of them, which originally are some sort of superpowered godlings, have been considerably de-powered thanks to magic displacement, but I'm trying very hard to keep them IC.  
Spoliers up to the end of DoD.  
**

******Will contain many romantic pairings, ass-kicking and dragons!**

**WARNINGS: violence, non-graphic nudity.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.  
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**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

In MBoTF, magic comes from the Warrens, some sort of elemental dimensions. Some of them are inhabited by non-human races. The Imperial Warren and Kurald Galain, the Warren of Darkness, are just two of them, the latter being the native world of the Tiste Andii Race.

The two alien characters are Eleint Soletaken, which means they can shapeshift into dragons. In the MBoTF universe, Eleint, or dragons, are some sort of manifestation of chaos from the primeval Warren of Starvald Demelain and sometimes characters need to battle them back to whence they came from. Eleint Soletaken are those who slew Tiam, Mother of Dragons, and drank their blood or their descendants.

Silchas Ruin is one of the former, an albino Tiste Andii Ascendant (basically a god-like being), who has been shut into a magical prison/hole for the last 10 thousand years after Scabandari's (another Ascendant) betrayal. He's supposed to be freakishly powerful, but has managed to be defeated by Malazan soldiers who blasted him with alchemical hand grenades. His elder brother, Anomander Rake, has just managed to sacrifice himself in order to save the world and wake Mother Darkness. He's a bit upset at that.

Rud Elalle is a half-human/half-Tiste Liosan boy who has been raised by Imass (basically Neanderthals) in a pocket dimension called Refugium. He is in a quest to save his home under the tutelage of Silchas Ruin. He can kick ass.

The Tiste races (Andii, Liosan and Edur) are the MBoTF equivalent of elves (tall, thin, beardless, beautiful, you know the drill). Tiste Andii are linked to Darkness and are black-skinned with mood-shifting eyes, Tiste Liosan are white-skinned and fair-haired, linked to Light, Tiste Edur are the people of Shadow and are grey-skinned. Tiste Andii and Tiste Liosan do not like each other, usually (it is a long story).

Olar Ethil is another Ascendant and she is a... very unpleasant old lady which I totally hope will die before the end of the saga.

For further information you might want to check (Google them):  
Malazan Wiki  
Encyclopedia Malazica

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As soon as they entered Kallor's Imperial Warren, Silchas Ruin understood that something was wrong. Tendrils of chaos rippled through the ash-laden air, seemingly trying to ensnare the two draconic Soletaken mid-flight and drag them to the ground. Silchas turned his head and checked if the boy was still following him. Rud Elalle's unmistakably golden draconic form was still a few tail-lengths behind him, eyeing the atmosphere with worry.

Suddenly a warning cry exploded in his skull. "_Behind you!"_ yelled the boy.  
Silchas turned again, vowing to teach the boy how to communicate mind-to-mind without shouting, then realised that the yell had not been out of inexperience, but out of genuine fright.  
An entropic storm had just bloomed in front of them and they were on collision course with it. Silchas cursed mentally and tried to steer away from it, but its gravitation had already caught him and was pulling him inexorably towards the centre. "_Run, Rud, run! You must go to Korabas!"_ he yelled, uncaring whether it would discomfort the boy.  
"_I can't! – _Rud replied desperately – _It is too strong!". _The boy might have added something else, but the eye of the storm had already captured him and every sound was swallowed by the deafening roar of a gate opening around him.  
Powerless, Silchas stopped fighting it and let it engulf him, hoping that it wouldn't land him headfirst into a hell dimension and readying himself to fight and withstand anything he would find on the other side.

The Imperial Warren disappeared in a nauseating, mind-numbing rush of mingled colours. When he regained his senses, Silchas Ruin found himself in the air above some sort of grassland, complete with running horses and a grassland fire, plummeting fast towards the ground. Sometime through the gate, he had unwittingly sembled into his Andii form, he noticed with irritation. Ignoring the rush of air all around him, he tried to veer back into his draconic shape, but, to his utmost surprise, he couldn't.  
Cursing under his breath, he manifested his warren, trying to slow his fall and buffet the impact. Meanwhile, the gate expelled something else with a loud "pop" and then vanished with a sizzle. "Silichaaaas! – screamed Rud, falling through the air and pathetically trying to slow himself by waving his arms around – Help me! I cannot veeeer!"

Kurald Galain felt weaker here, wherever they were, but he was still able to draw enough power to control his fall, slowing it down, so that, when Rud hurtled past him, he managed to grab him by a wrist. The boy grunted, probably feeling the jolt of the sudden halt in his shoulder. "Thanks…" he breathed, but Slichas didn't bother replying. He was concentrating hard in keeping his warren open and keeping the power tight around them. It had never been that hard, but he had to keep going. Just a bit more, just a bit more, he told himself, trying to get a hold on the manifestation but it felt slippery, too slippery, until it slipped past his fingers. "No more" he thought and the two warriors resumed their free fall to the ground. Fortunately, they had been no more than ten feet above the ground when Kurald Galain abandoned them, but the impact still hurt.

Silchas Ruin lay on the grass for a while trying to make an inventory of bruises and aches. His ribs hurt, but not as much as when the two Malazan soldiers blasted him with Moranth ammunition and through a building, and he knew he could march. Not that marching under the sun, on an open terrain, with no shadow in sight, appealed to him. He was going to get as red as a lobster and feverish before the end of the day, sure as Darkness. He sighed and picked himself up from the ground with a groan, noticing with satisfaction that Rud Elalle was similarly getting back to his feet.

The familiar sound of huge beating wings drew their attention and made them both flatten to the ground again. A pureblood Eleint was flying overhead, then banked sharply and descended upon a stampeding herd of seemingly wild horses, breathing flames. The smell of charred meat and burning grass came to their nostrils, then a female voice attracted their attention. Silchas Ruin stood up, followed by Rud, and unsheathed his swords, creeping through the grass towards the feasting Eleint. It would not be the first time that he had to fight an Eleint while in this form, he mused, motioning to Rud to fan out towards the left side. For a second he wondered whether the boy's Imass stone sword would do any good against the scaled hide of the Eleint, but it was an otiose question. They would know for certain within seconds.

Silchas drew a breath, ready to pounce, then noticed the woman and halted suddenly, popping slightly up from the grass. Rud looked a question to him, but he only pointed silently towards the odd scene. The boy crept towards his position to have a better look and gaped.  
The Eleint, not completely grown yet, probably a hatchling, was eating from the still-smouldering carcass of a horse and next to him was a young woman. She looked like a human at first sight, but Silchas hesitated to label her so, not only for her silvery hair and purple, almond-shaped eyes, but also because she was ripping chunks of meat from a steaming-hot carcass and gobbling them down without her hands or her mouth getting scorched and without the Eleint ripping her to pieces. Maybe she had Eleint blood as well, he thought.  
She was quite a distraction, especially since she was very beautiful and half-naked. How long had it been since he had last seen a beautiful, naked woman, he asked himself. The answer was surely "too long" by any standard.  
He sighed, undecided about what to do, and the purple eyes of the girl locked on with his. "Brilliant. We've been caught red-handed…" Silchas thought and got to his feet, weapons at the ready.

Daenerys had never felt so hungry in her life, not even when her people had crossed the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro. She had subsisted on grass and berries, not all of which had been completely edible, for days and when Drogon felled the horse, or rather horses, since more than one had been caught in the conflagration, she didn't hesitate a second before slipping down from his back and joining in the feast. The meat was half-raw and half-charred, tough and stringy, but it was warm and delicious and it made her feel instantly better. She was sure that, after a proper meal, the visions that plagued her, probably a consequence of hunger and fatigue, would leave her alone.

She had had the strangest of them only moments past, while flying on Drogon's back. She had imagined she had seen a couple of strange warriors appear from a wound in the middle of the sky and fall towards the ground, yelling, until what looked like a sphere of darkness had engulfed them, slowing their fall. The sphere, however, had vanished into thin air before they reached the ground. That must hurt, she had thought, wondering about the significance of such a vision. Did it have anything to do with her stand in Mereen, with the war? Was she floundering mid-air as well, struggling not to crash, she asked herself, while gnawing at a bone. She raised her gaze towards the horizon, trying to discern the approach of any enemy: she knew that the herd of horses they had just terrified was not wild but property of some khalasar or another and that they would not be long in coming to assess the damage and punish the culprits, a knowledge which lent a frantic edge to her feeding.

She had been looking for a horde of copper-skinned, dark-haired dothraki screamers, but she was equally surprised to find two pairs of eyes, one lion-golden and the other dragon-red, peering at her through the grass.  
Daenerys dropped her food and brought her whip to bear, hoping that the situation would not lead to a confrontation, as she didn't know how to fight at all.

Two warriors stood up among the grass, weapons at the ready. Daenerys was quite shocked to notice that they were the two protagonists of her vision and that neither was properly human. The nearest one, who wielded two slightly curved swords of gleaming blue steel, was almost seven feet tall and very thin, his skin deathly pale and marred by old bruises and scars, his clothes and armour in tatters, his hair long and bone-white, his eyes smouldering red and slanted. Despite his gangly frame, he moved with liquid grace, as a panther, and exuded power and control. The other was younger, shorter but still very tall and his features were less inhuman, his skin sun-darkened, his hair flame-red and his eyes golden and warm. He looked rather friendlier, despite the huge stoneblade he was wielding with ease.

Drogon turned his head from the horse and regarded them almost thoughtfully, then emitted a series of clicks and hisses. Daenerys frowned, worried. She had never heard him make such sounds, except when he was playing with his siblings. The white stranger bared his teeth in a feral smile and replied with another series of clicks and hisses, then sheathed his swords and gestured towards his younger companion to do the same. Surprisingly, Drogon settled on his haunches, curling his tail around her as if to protect her. "You have a most fierce companion, my lady." the white warrior said with a sketchy bow. His voice was low and his accent melodious and exotic.

"D-did you just speak to him?" she managed to ask, spluttering.  
The man nodded. "Don't you ever? – he asked, tilting his head to the side – I would say you do, Mother of Dragons." he added mockingly. "Curious, - he added – I used to know the real Mother of Dragons and she looked nothing like you."  
"Who in the Seven Hells are you?" she asked, completely out of her depth.  
Another sketchy bow and the stranger replied. "I am Silchas Ruin."  
"I am Rud Elalle, fair lady, pleased to meet you." added the younger warrior with a nice smile.  
"And who might you be, Mother of Dragons?" asked Silchas Ruin, his cold, red eyes boring deep into hers. Daenerys straightened and gave him her hardest stare.  
"I am Daenerys Targaryen the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Queen of Meereen." she recited, using her ridiculously long titular to irritate and maybe impress the haughty and disquieting stranger. The younger man seemed suitably impressed, or maybe just distracted by the fact that she had subconsciously crossed her arms under her bare breasts, but Silchas Ruin just barked a harsh laugh.  
"Such a long title for such a petite lady…" he commented and Daenerys would have liked nothing better than to wipe that mocking smile from his lean face. While she thought of a suitably stroppy answer, his gaze strayed southward as well, his face acquiring an almost dreamy expression for a second, then he blinked repeatedly and focused on her face again.

The ground under their feet started trembling. "Aw, shit!" Daenerys thought and, soon enough the dothraki were upon them. The two warriors had drawn their swords and were facing outwards, Silchas Ruin was jabbering again to Drogon, who was coiled tightly but was not launching himself in the air yet.  
"What did you say to him?" she asked, positioning herself to his right, whip in hand. She was not going down without a fight. Better to be killed in a confrontation than to be left at the dothraki's dubious mercy.  
"You really do not know?" he asked. Daenerys shook her head.  
The warrior sighed. "I've told him to take off and burn everything in sight if they try anything funny. The two of us are immune to fire and I am sure you will come to no harm, o Unburnt. Or will you?" he added with a sardonic smile. If she had had any time and hadn't had to jump to get him, she would have punched his lights out. Daenerys tried to rein in her temper, she had walked through fire twice, she was not unduly afraid and she knew Drogon wouldn't harm her on purpose. The problem was that he didn't seem overly inclined to aim, when he set stuff on fire.  
Fortunately, the dothraki seemed content to watch them from a distance, probably scared shitless at the sight of Drogon. Everything would be fine until they realised that arrows would hurt.

A knot of riders made their way uneasily through the crowd. Daenerys recognised Jhaqo, one of Drogo's former captains now turned khal, and Mago, the vicious bastard, who was now one of Jhaqo's bloodriders.  
"It's Drogo's cursed bitch!" Mago exclaimed, but none moved to get her as Drogon hissed viciously.  
"Ready your bows!" Mago yelled and the dothraki raised their curved bows. Daenerys cursed knowing that, while Drogon with his scaly hide could withstand a hail of arrows with little damage and take to the skies, she and the two warriors would get skewered.

"Stop!" yelled Jhaqo, postponing the moment of truth and advancing towards her position. "Silver Khaleesi – he called out to Daenerys in the dothraki tongue – I have grossly underestimated you. You not only survived the Red Waste, but tamed the most fierce firehorse in the whole world. I should have taken you as my wife instead of abandoning you to die." he said, eyeing her appreciatively.  
Daenerys was on the verge of answering rudely, but something made her stop. She had just had an idea on how to get out of that situation without becoming a human pincushion or risking going up in flames and maybe harnessing fresh troops to come to the aid of her people.

"Tell Drogon to hold on until I tell him to go." she told Silchas, hoping that the irritating warrior would do as she said, then smiled her most seductive smile and turned back to Jhaqo.  
"Khal Jhaqo – she saluted, her voice dripping honey – I see you khalasar and I am impressed. Your fame will outstrip that of Drogo, I am sure. The milk men in their stone tents must be terrified of your coming. I can only imagine the wealth of gifts they must have tributed to your strength… - she added coyly and she could see the idiot puffing his chest – I wish I could take up your offer and become your mate. Now I understand much better. I know that it would be our get who would truly be the Stallion who Mounts the World. We would be undefeatable, with our firehorse… - she continued, swallowing bile at the thought of Jhaqo ever touching her or ever claiming ownership over Drogon – I regret that I am already married. You see the tall warrior at my side? – she asked and Jhaqo nodded, eyes narrowing – He is my husband now, a fierce khal from a distant land." she teased. Jhaqo bridled visibly.  
"That bleached sticksnare? – he mocked - Then I shall defeat him and claim you as mine." he proclaimed, as she had expected.

The khal dismounted from his horse and unsheathed his twin arakhs, crossing them in front of his torso and then started yelling abuse and challenges at Silchas Ruin, who looked a question at her, arching a thin eyebrow. Daenerys smiled weakly. She had put him in the line of fire, relying on his martial prowess. Sure, he looked fierce and vicious, but he also looked weary and frail, almost broken. It was entirely possible that she had made a terrible mistake.

Silchas Ruin hoped that the human had a really good reason to hold off the Eleint while she traded words with the horselord. It looked like they knew each other quite well, but, from what had transpired in the first moments of the confrontation, there was bad water between them. The horsewarriors had their bows at the ready, only moments away from unleashing a deadly barrage on them, and still the irritating girl had told him to call the Eleint off.  
The hatchling had been trembling with repressed energy, hungering for violence, but when he told him that his "mother" had commanded him to stay still, he had quieted as much as possible and was venting his anger just in loud hisses and growls and dirty looks at the horselord. Silchas wished he could understand what was going on between the girl and the horselord, or, even better, what was her strategy. Why didn't she unleash the Eleint? Was she really unsure of her Eleint blood and afraid of burning, or did she have any ulterior motives to spare the horsewarriors from wholesale destruction?

The girl pointed him out and added something, to which the horselord became infuriated and dismounted, shouting what was most probably abuse at him. Silchas frowned. What exactly had the girl told the barbarian, to make him furious with him?  
"What is he saying?" he asked dryly.  
"Well, the gist of it is that he doesn't like you and would like very much to gut you. – she replied – Obviously he was not that polite." she clarified, unnecessarily. Silchas ground his teeth together.  
"You have some explaining to do. What did you tell him?" he asked, furious. The girl had the good grace to look embarrassed.  
"I might have lied to him about you being my husband." she replied.  
"You did what?" he asked, completely stunned.  
"You heard it correctly the first time." she answered, irritated.

The barbarian started yelling again and pointing at him with one of his curved swords, then thumped on his chest and, as if on cue, his men started shouting his name enthusiastically. This time, Silchas Ruin didn't need any translation. The oaf was challenging him. The girl had set him up.  
In normal circumstances, he would have veered and wiped everyone out, or called his warren and blasted anything that moved, maybe except the Eleint, but as both courses of action were blocked, he had only one option left. Sighing, he unsheathed his swords and stepped forward, locking stares with the barbarian, trying to assess him. The man seemed to be fit and vicious and he was still feeling all broken from the Malazans and the fall and, worse still, from Olar Ethil's words. He felt tired to the bone, both physically and spiritually, but he couldn't back down. He couldn't fail again. It was going to be interesting.

The two contenders circled each other silently, trying to find a weakness to exploit. Daenerys gripped the haft of her whip in a white-knuckled grip, hoping that the strange warrior would be as good as he looked.  
"He'll be fine, I guess." Rud whispered, trying to reassure her.  
She turned towards him for a second with a wavering smile. He looked around twenty, a grown man, but he still had something of a child in his eyes, something young and innocent.  
"I am sure he will." she lied and turned back to the fight.

Jhaqo darted forward and steel clashed on steel with a piercing ring, almost a cry. The white stranger was responding to every blow but keeping on a defensive position, as if he wanted to study his opponent, or tire him, or maybe he was too tired himself, Daenerys couldn't tell. She had seen people fight, witnessed a lot of dothraki duels, but her eye was not trained to distinguish subtleties. The two men danced among the grass, weaving in and out of range, Jhaqo lithe and quick like a plains wolf, Silchas graceful and wild like a hrakkar, the white-maned lion of the plains. There was beauty in such a sight, she could see the point of the Mereenese, but it was overshadowed by the fact that if Silchas died, she would be in a very tight spot. The only option left would be to jump on Drogon's back, drag Rud with her and hope for the best. She couldn't just leave him there, could she?

She had gambled too much on a stranger, she thought, but suddenly something changed in the duel. Silchas increased the pace, as if he had been holding himself back, his swords a blur, coming upon Jhaqo from all sides at once and singing their infernal song. To his credit, Jhaqo withstood the onslaught for a moment, but the white warrior was too fast, pressing the advantage mercilessly, and soon Jhaqo fell to the floor, bleeding from his throat, one of his hands lying abandoned in the grass, still clenched on the arakh's hilt. An incredulous hush fell over the khalasar, while Silchas flicked the blood from his blades with a snap of his wrists and yelled something menacing in a language she didn't know.

Jhaqo's bloodriders yelled in return and rushed him all at the same time, clamouring for revenge. Silchas met them halfway, forcing them to split. To her side, Rud broke into a startlingly fast run, brandishing that unwieldy stone sword of his and engaging one of the bloodriders, while Silchas took care of Mago and the other one. It was over in a matter of mere heartbeats. Rud had split the head of his foe with a brutal chop of his weapon and Silchas' two opponents were writhing on the grass in their death-throes. The two warriors were almost unscathed, but, if he had looked weary before, now Silchas looked on the verge of collapse. He straightened, however, and sheathed his blades, eyeing the crowd of mounted warriors with an ice-cold gaze. The atmosphere was tense, balanced as if on the edge of a blade. Jhaqo's former khalasar could either take it in stride and bow to the winner (and the dragon) in the best tradition of dothraki culture, or get outraged and jump at her band of improvised rescuers. She had to tip the scales to the right side.

"Warriors of Jhaqo, - she called out, walking towards Silchas and hoping that Drogon, which for the time being had behaved uncharacteristically well, would remain where he was – your khal has been defeated in an honorable duel. Either swear loyalty to my khal or begone, to dissolve leaderless in the Grass Sea." she proclaimed, setting a hand on his wiry arm. A couple of thousands of dothraki screamers knelt in the grass and shouted their fealty to the White Khal.  
Silchas looked at her wide-eyed. "What have you set me up to, now?" he asked, almost terrified.  
Daenerys smiled coyly. "I think you've been just elected warleader, dear husband." she replied.  
"I'm not your husband." he retorted, curtly.  
"I know, but they don't, so let's play pretend." she proposed, raising on her tiptoes and placing a light kiss on his lips.

Silchas Ruin felt exhausted. The storm and the fall had bruised his already sore carcass and the sun was too hot and too bright and he could feel his skin start to tighten and redden wherever it was exposed, which was rather more than he would have liked to, thanks to the gaps and tears in his attire, courtesy of those damned Malazan soldiers.  
The fight with the horsewarriors had just driven the last nail into his weariness, but he could not show any sign of weakness, not in front of a big crowd of crazy barbarians who might be out for his blood in a few seconds.

Usually, nomadic, clannish barbarians didn't get too angry at people who kill one of their own in a duel, but the fact that he had, with some help from the boy, taken out pretty much all of their power structure might have tipped the scales, in this case. He straightened, trying to look imposing, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind him, until the girl started shouting something in the barbarians' language. The word khal was repeated several times and at the end of her little speech, she put a hand on his arm almost possessively. He blinked repeatedly, uncomprehending, then completely shocked as the whole clan of barbarians knelt and started shouting in unison.

"What have you set me up to, now?" he asked, turning towards the girl, who had a triumphant grin plastered on her face.  
"I think you've been just elected warleader, dear husband." she replied, calmly and seductively. Silchas shook his head. How did he get into such a situation?  
"I'm not your husband." he barked, trying to keep a healthy distance between them, without looking as if he wanted to bolt.  
"I know, but they don't, so let's play pretend." she whispered standing on her tiptoes, bracing herself on his chest, and kissed him.

Silchas froze for an instant, shocked to the core, his entire being focusing on the feeling of her lips pressed against his.  
It was too much, too much sensation. After so many millennia trapped in the Azath burial mound, he was not used to feel anything but pain and weariness anymore, as if any other feeling had deadened with time and lack of use. Ever since he got out of there any kind of pleasure, even as simple as drinking a cup of wine, had been overwhelming, blown out of proportions by the newness of it. He could not recall when he had last shared a kiss with a woman, surely before Scabandari's betrayal, maybe even before guiding his people out of Kharkanas, at least ten thousand weary years before. It was too much: even a kiss from the ugliest hag would have been too much, but the annoyingly cunning Queen of Mereen was anything but a hag and he couldn't help feeling forgotten urges stirring in his body, his sorrow momentarily forgotten.

His control slipped away and he twisted a bloody hand into her hair, pulling her closer, flush with his body, and bent down to deepen the kiss. The girl, no, woman, surely a woman, resisted for a split second, then let him in, probably to avoid breaking the pretense of intimacy, but he could not care less. So much feeling… He felt like he would drown in it, lose himself completely and that would not do. With a great effort, he tore himself from her lips, panting and feeling even more exhausted than before and yet empowered.

The barbarians exploded in loud catcalls and, most probably, lewd suggestions. Even Rud wolf-whistled from the sidelines, standing near the Eleint, who had not stirred during the whole ordeal. He had been very specific in telling him the plan, but his level of faith in his "mother" was absolutely admirable.  
"Too good at playing pretend?" the Queen asked, breathless, still draped all over him.  
"Who said I was pretending?" he growled, trying to regain control over himself. The woman giggled, grinding herself against him.  
"Either you're desperate – she said and he hissed at the contact – or you do make friends very fast. Aren't there any girls where you come from?" she teased. He stepped back, away from her, needing to be able to think more clearly.  
"What happens now?" he asked, disgruntled. The woman shrugged.  
"You're their khal, now,  
and they think you're married to me. – she replied calmly – I need their cavalry to relieve my people from the siege…" she confessed. "That's why you told me to hold your Eleint off." he realised belatedly.  
"Precisely. – the queen confirmed – and I need you to teach me how to communicate with Drogon." she added.  
"I doubt I'll be around for long enough." he scoffed. The Queen dismissed his claim with a wave of her hand.  
"I saw you arrive here from wherever you came from. If you could get back as easily, I doubt you'd still be here." she said curtly.

Silchas hung his head in shame. It was true, he couldn't open his warren enough to levitate, there was no way for him to open a gate to get back from where they had started.  
"I have a proposition for you, Silchas Ruin, - she stated – You help me with the dothraki and the dragons or whatever you call them, and I help you go back to wherever you came from. I know something about magic." she added. How could she not, seeing that she rode an Eleint who was completely loyal to her.  
"Dragons? As in more than one?" he asked, wanting a clarification. The queen nodded.  
"Drogon, Viseryion and Rhaegal. My children." she said. He gaped. She giggled.  
"So, how do you like my offer?" she asked.  
"I – I have no other option." he admitted. Maybe she had some sort of power over Eleints, maybe she exuded some aura that tamed them, bending them to her will, because he felt drained of the will to resist and leave her to fend for herself. He was tired and still grieving for his brother, likely trapped in another world, almost stripped of his magic and completely out of his depth. He needed her and she needed him in order to achieve their respective ends. It made sense to team up, for now.

All around them, and at a respectable distance from the Eleint, the clan started striking tents and lighting cookfires.  
"What are they doing?" he asked, somewhat stupidly as it was clear enough.  
"Preparing a feast for the new khal, I would guess. - she answered – You just have to sit on a chair, scowl, look fierce and eat. You can do that, can't you?" she asked mockingly.  
He nodded curtly. "And you?"  
"Oh, I just look pretty and sit next to you." she replied confidently.  
"And Rud?" he insisted.  
"He sits on the other side of you and has a good time. Is he your brother?" she asked, doubtful. He shook his head.  
"Cousin, then…" she insisted. He shook his head again.  
"We're only distantly related." he clarified.  
"Then he will be your bloodrider. – she proposed – A sort of life-sworn bodyguard and best friend to the khal, nothing to worry about, it is just pretence." she explained calmly in response to his inquisitive stare.  
He nodded. They had no way out of it, as far as he could tell, and he wanted out of the sun really badly, before the sunburn got too out of hand. He highly doubted those barbarians would be impressed by a fevered and shivering warleader.

"Your plan is sound. – he acquiesced – I'll tell your "child" to get lost for a while, before something bad happens, and explain the situation to Rud." he said. The queen nodded and smiled, very pleased.  
"Very efficient. – she commented – You know, I might seriously start to like you." she added, giving him another brief kiss, to which his knees almost buckled. He distanced himself from her again and stalked towards Rud and the Eleint with as much dignity as he could muster. Ever since he came out of that damned burial mound, he always seemed to get himself in trouble, he thought to himself.

Exactly like in the old times, he added with a wry smile.


	2. Khal and Khaleesi

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

**This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 20/05/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"  
**

**WARNINGS: lemon! I know, it is a bit sudden, but It Makes Sense in Context.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.  
**

* * *

**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

T'riss is the Queen of Dreams, another Ascendant.

For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:

Malazan Wiki  
Encyclopedia Malazica

* * *

The feast was going as well as expected, Daenerys thought, shifting on her seat and casting a glance around the great tent. The warriors drank fermented mare's milk and made merry, laughing, bragging and coupling with the women without the least shame. Women danced, scantily clad, and some sort of storyteller was reciting the deeds of khals long gone.

Next to her, Silchas Ruin sat motionless, still as a statue, with a cup of wine in his hand. It was totally uncanny how he could simply stay still and silent for so long, it was intimidating, and the dothraki gave him a wide berth out of reluctant respect and superstitious fear.  
Daenerys was now dressed as a dothraki woman, in a painted leather vest, tight leggings and sandals and she felt a bit more like herself.

Silchas was wearing a dothraki vest as well, in sign of respect, but nothing she had told him had persuaded him to change out of his trousers and boots. His long white hair had been bound in a braid and three bells had been hung from it, however, in obeisance to dothraki tradition. He had sighed and rolled his eyes, but had accepted the imposition with good grace. "The king of rabbits must wear floppy ears." she had told him and his almost colourless lips had curved into some sort of smile.

She had pressed the point so that he would look less alien to the khalasar, but it was a wasted effort. In a leather vest, he looked even more wiry and white, except where old green-yellow bruises and reddened sunburns marred his skin, and the drawn-back hair revealed slightly pointed ears. Definitely not human, however one might look at him.

If Silchas seemed to have turned into a statue, Rud was enjoying himself, at least, flirting harmlessly with the women, despite the linguistic barrier, smiling and looking sociable. The dothraki traditional clothes looked good on him, much better than on his silent comrade, showing off lean and defined muscle on his arms and chest and a few scars, and the lone bell at the end of his braid chimed as he laughed. The fact that he looked a lot more human, despite those golden eyes, also helped, she thought. His features were less harsh and narrow and his ears were not pointy, at least.

She sighed and turned back towards her false husband, who was now looking into the depths of his wine cup with a faraway, sad expression.  
"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, curious. He shook his head, making the braid-bells chime, which caused an irritated frown to crease his brow. His expression reminded her of a cat to whose tail a naughty child had tied a rattler, irritated but unable to do anything about it. She smiled sympathetically.  
"They are a nuisance." she offered.  
"How would you know?" he asked, still irritated.  
"I am khaleesi of my own khalasar, I ruled without a khal for years. – she replied – They gave me bells to commemorate my victories."  
"You do not look like a warrior." he commented curtly and Daenerys wondered if he would ever reply to her in more than a short sentence. "I am not. – she confirmed –I command my troops, however. We defeated Astapor, Yunkai and Mereen and I and Drogon burned down the House of the Undying in Qarth. Four bells." she explained. Silchas raised a thin eyebrow in appreciation, but said nothing.  
Another long spell of silence fell between the two of them.  
"So, what are you thinking about, husband?" she asked again, impatient.  
"The last army I led in battle." he replied, laconically.  
"What about them?" she insisted. Silchas looked into his cup again.  
"We were betrayed by our allies. My people was wiped out." he whispered, trying for his usual emotionlessness, but Daenerys noticed how his hands had clenched on the cup and on the armrest of the chair and how his cold eyes had lit up with sadness and anger.

Daenerys felt at a loss about what to say. "I am sorry." wouldn't be enough and might even irritate him and "You'll do better this time." seemed too cynical and heartless. She put a hand on his bare arm and, when he looked at her with those sad eyes, she smiled at him, remembering how it had felt to see her people die of thirst in the Red Waste, to ride along the seemingly endless row of stakes on the road to Yunkai, to see her people suffer, die of thirst and of the blood flux in Mereen. She knew the overwhelming loss, she had felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders become so infinitely heavy and she had tormented herself with the thought that she should have done more, should have found a way to save them. She understood him and she tried to communicate all of this without words.

"How old are you, Queen of Mereen?" he asked, with soft wonder.  
Daenerys shrugged. "Seventeen." she replied, matter-of-factly. He raised an eyebrow in appreciation again and maybe would have said something, but they were both distracted from their conversation by a dothraki woman, who unceremoniously dragged Rud out of his chair and then out of the tent, starting to tug at his clothes even before they were completely outside.  
"Your dothraki have a peculiar concept of privacy." Silchas commented.  
Daenerys shrugged. "You get used to it, eventually." she replied. His laconicism was rubbing off on her already, it seemed.  
"How did you end up with them?" he asked politely.  
"My brother arranged me to marry khal Drogo when I was fourteen. – she replied – He hoped to get the dothraki to help him reconquer the throne of our father." she added.  
"In Mereen?" he asked again. Daenerys shook her head.  
"In Westeros, on the other side of the Narrow Sea." she replied.  
"Then why are you battling for Mereen?" he asked again. Daenerys shrugged.  
"I wanted an army, but in getting it I freed the slaves in Slave Bay and they became mine. My children, my people. – she whispered – More mine that the dothraki ever were, probably. Everywhere I went, I had brought destruction. I just wanted to settle down, let their wounds mend, grow trees and build something, for a change." she confessed.  
"It is a noble thing." he commented. Daenerys shook her head. again.  
"I am not good for peace. I am blood of the dragon, and dragons do not build." she admitted sadly. To her surprise, he put a hand over hers, which still rested on his arm.  
"I know. I am blood of the dragon too. – he whispered – And those like us do not shy away from a challenge. You'll fight for them and you'll save your children." he added, surprisingly gentle and reassuring.  
She smiled and, for a change, he returned her smile.

All around them, music and laughter were subsiding as the horsewarriors absconded in couples or slumped where they were, victims of alcoholic excess.  
"We can go, if you want." she told Silchas. He nodded and stood up in a fluid movement, holding out a hand for her. Daenerys took his large, long-fingered hand and stood, letting him guide her to the khal's tent. Among the dothraki still awake, especially the crones, a murmur made itself heard, then the warriors started cheering the White Khal all over again and shouting lewd suggestions, which, fortunately, Silchas could not understand.  
"What is up with your barbarians, now?" he whispered, squeezing her hand.  
Daenerys coloured despite herself. "They think you are dragging me away to… you know." she stuttered.  
"Should I?" he asked interestedly, quirking an eyebrow again.  
"Dothraki warleaders must be seen to be the quintessential males." she replied in a neutral, matter-of-fact tone.  
"It must be hard to live up to the standards." he commented ironically, as they exited the tent. Daenerys nodded and laughed, then noticed that some of the warriors and the women had followed them. She felt a cold sweat spreading all over her. She whispered a curse under her breath.

"Why are they following us?" Silchas asked, without even turning to look over his shoulder.  
Daenerys bit her lip in anxiety. "I had not thought about this. – she admitted - It is custom among the dothraki that, when rising to khal-hood, a man mates with his wife under the stars." she explained.  
"Are they checking if we are complying?" he asked, still inscrutable.  
Daenerys nodded. "We do not need to do it. – she clarified – But we must give them something, to keep the pretence of marriage."  
Silchas' expression didn't change, remaining totally blank and unreadable, but he nodded.  
"Sounds sensible." he acquiesced. Daenerys sighed in relief, and turned towards him, placing her hands over his leather vest and looking up at him. Silchas towered over her even more than Drogo did.  
"May I?…" she asked, feeling her voice shake a little at the memory their previous kiss that afternoon, the hunger, the desire, the need. She was a bit afraid of kissing him again.

He nodded again, leaning down, and she stood on her tiptoes and tilted her head towards him, waiting, but for a moment he seemed content of sniffing her, brushing his lips lightly over her hair and brow. Daenerys closed her eyes, unable to repress a shiver as his dry lips explored her face, drawing closer to hers, and his arms wrapped around her, one large hand spreading over her lower back and the other cradling her head gently. While she certainly wanted to give the dothraki a good show, this was becoming too much, too intimate, and Daenerys was disconcerted at the realisation that she was liking it a bit too much, to the extent of feeling the familiar tingle down below.

She tilted her head more and finally their lips met. The kiss remained soft and gentle, this time, lips brushing gently, a delicate pressure, almost a caress, then his tongue traced the outline of her mouth and this time it was her who deepened the kiss, needing more, demanding entrance. He let her in with a sigh that sounded almost like a whimper and the kiss became something fierce, fiery hot and passionate. She didn't know him almost at all and she didn't even like him much, aloof and snarky as he was, but kissing him felt right and good, surprisingly so.

She lost herself in the moment, even if she could have ended it at any time, content just to feel. His lips tasted like wine and, despite the chill of the night, his skin felt hot under her hands, which in the heat of the moment had slipped under his vest to rest on his bone-white, hairless chest, caressing gently. He inhaled sharply at the contact and the kiss became even more ravenous. His hands moved to her hips and he picked her up almost effortlessly, straightening up. Daenerys instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and felt his manhood pressed against her core through their clothes. He moaned into the kiss, pressing harder and shivering with need and, for some reason, this aroused her even more. Unthinking, she ground herself against him, over and over, feeling herself getting wet and aching. She knew that all of this was not necessary, that they didn't have to do it for real, but in the heat of the moment, none of this mattered, just his kiss and the heat and feel of his body against hers as they ground frantically against each other.

Silchas lowered himself to his knees and lay her on the grass, cradling her head gently to avoid hurting her, still kissing her, still rubbing himself against her, and she stopped thinking and started tearing at his clothes, making small sounds of pleasure and need. Soon they were both naked, caressing and kissing under the stars. She rubbed herself against his manhood, impatiently and he obliged, sneaking a hand between them and guiding it to press gently against her opening.

He looked down at her and, even in the darkness, his eyes didn't look flat and cold as usual, the eyes of a dead man, they were warm and full of need instead. He needed her. "  
Yes…" she whispered in response to his silent question and he pressed harder, breaching her and sliding in, inch by inch, until he was sheathed inside her as deep as possible. He stopped there, trembling and breathing harshly, as if to regain control, but Daenerys couldn't help but squirm and jerk her hips in pleasure. He was big, but neither Drogo nor Daario had been small, and it felt perfect, so very perfect.

He started moving in slow but powerful strokes, hitting the end of her at the end of each stroke, and moans came unbidden to her lips. Her hands caressed his back, while her mouth traced paths over his neck and shoulders, licking, kissing and nipping gently. His pace started picking up and suddenly he lifted her legs over his shoulders and pounded himself into her mercilessly, panting and murmuring words in a strange, liquid language which sounded awfully arousing coming from him. Her moans had turned into cries by then, as pleasure coiled inside of her, tighter and tighter, drawing her taut as a bowstring, and finally swept all over her, ripping a scream from her throat and making her whole body convulse underneath her improvised companion.

She heard him gasp and felt him spill himself inside her, screaming hoarsely, and thought that it would be over, but it was as if he couldn't stop and he kept moving, shaking and gasping for breath, drawing out their pleasure to unbearable heights. Daenerys tried to ride it out for a while, but it was too much, too strong.  
"Please… Stop…" she whimpered and, fortunately, he obeyed, sliding out of her and collapsing on his side on the grass beside her, his breathing harsh and uneven. "  
D-Did I hurt you?" he stammered, breathless. Daenerys rolled on her side to face him and shook his head, still not trusting her voice. Her throat felt raw, the whole khalasar must have heard her scream, she thought, but she couldn't manage to feel ashamed of it, not now that she was feeling so good. On Silchas' face, on the other hand, shame and embarrassment were written all over the place.  
"I am sorry about this… I shouldn't have lost control." he whispered. Daenerys shrugged.  
"I could have said no. I didn't. I liked it." she said simply and he seemed to relax somewhat.

There was a moment of silence, then he spoke again.  
"You are a very special sort of person, my Queen." he said, looking straight into her eyes.  
"It takes one to know one, I would guess." she retorted and he smiled slightly, then became serious again.  
"Why did you choose me today? Why not Rud? – he asked – He is as powerful as me, maybe more. And he's not been broken by life, yet. He has not yet been forced to face his shortcomings in the worse way." he added. His eyes had yet to return to their usual flat coldness, they were full of sorrow and grief, as raw as a still-bleeding wound and Daenerys knew that she was seeing him at his most vulnerable. "Rud might be a great warrior and a wise man, but he feels young and untested. I didn't know if he would roll with the blows. – she replied, smiling softly – You instead… Even if you do not look much older than him, I looked at you and I knew that you would do what was necessary, for as long as it was necessary, to get where you wanted to be. Am I wrong?" she asked.  
Silchas shook his head, making the bells in his braid chime again. They must have chimed loudly while they were… otherwise engaged, but she had not noticed, she realised, blushing slightly. Unbidden, her gaze slid all over his form, taking in every detail, every dip and ridge of wiry muscle on his slim frame, every scar, every bruise, then returned to his face and his eyes. He looked embarrassed and must have blushed, except that it was dark enough that she couldn't see it, struggling hard to keep his eyes from straying.

"You really do not mind what happened? – he asked hoarsely – There is no King in Mereen who is going to want my head on a platter?"  
"There is a Consort, but, as he tried to kill me and Drogon, I owe him nothing." she replied, feeling a pang of worry for Rhaegal and Viserion. Surely ser Barristan would have prevented any harm coming to them.  
Silchas shook his head. "We gave your dothraki the show they wanted, after all. – he said, beginning to slip again into his cold persona – Shall we find the khal's tent, now?" he asked, sighing and sitting up, trying to act as if his inscrutable, snarky mask had not just cracked, revealing him to her.  
Daenerys nodded, she was starting to feel cold in the night air, and sat up as well, wincing slightly from the ache low in her body. She didn't mind it, it was a pleasant ache, a good ache.  
Silchas tossed her clothes her way, pulling his trousers up and then his boots. He picked up his vest but slung it on his shoulder without donning it. Daenerys considered her clothes, then slung them all over her shoulder and stood up. This time, his self-control cracked and he gave her a long, appreciative once-over.  
Daenerys bit down on a giggle. "Let's go." she said, walking towards the tent naked. Silchas followed her as an overgrown puppy, braid-bells chiming in the night.

The inside of the late's tent was lit by a bronze brazier and quite warmer than the outside. Daenerys sauntered towards the only bed and sat on it, letting her clothes fall to the ground. Silchas looked around, ill at ease, eyes darting from her and the bed to the rest of the tent. "I'll sleep on the floor." he said hastily. Daenerys didn't comment.  
"Let me help you take those damn bells out first. – she offered, patting the bed next to her – You're not supposed to sleep in them."  
"This is relieving." he commented, sitting down next to her.

She knelt behind him on the bed and took his braid untying it, taking the bells out and disentangling it gently. Silchas shuddered at her touch and leaned into it as she finger-combed his hair. He liked to be touched, to feel, she realised, and let her hands glide down his back, gently tracing the ugly scar he had between his shoulder blades and then down along his spine.  
"Stop or I'll end up losing control again." he warned or better pleaded.  
"I want to bed you again as well." she revealed, whispering in his ear. "It felt good. There is nothing wrong with it." she added, letting her hands slide on his chest, smooth and hairless as a child's. Except that the white warrior was nothing like a child: he was a seven feet tall creature from Somewhere Else who looked slightly like a human but not exactly, who could kill three seasoned dothraki warriors without breaking a sweat after taking a fall of some ten feet and could speak to dragons, who had erected around his sorrow walls so high that almost nothing could reach him anymore and who was starving for touch and pleasure.

"If this is a dream, I'll kill T'riss and scatter her remains to the wind." he murmured, turning into her embrace to kiss her breathless again. Daenerys ignored the strange remark and swiftly pressed him on the bed, straddling his waist and feeling him squirm, frantically trying to get rid of boots and trousers. She smiled and slid slowly down his body, leaving a trail of kisses everywhere she could reach, until she reached the waistband of his half-undone trousers and finished undoing them, pulling them down slowly and kissing every inch of exposed skin, finally freeing him from the garment. She looked up at his face as if to ask permission. He nodded frantically as if he had lost his voice and Daenerys bent down again, setting out to use one of the tricks Doreah had taught her so much time before. Soon he regained his voice, calling out in that exotic, alien language of his.  
"Before the end, I'll get you to tell me what does this mean." she vowed to herself.  
Who would have thought bedding a stranger would have felt so good?

Much later, Daenerys lay awake in bed, curled against Silchas' side, an arm flung across his chest. They had fallen asleep like that, some time before, exhausted and unable or unwilling to disentangle themselves from each other. A small part of her, the part that had caused her to wake up, felt uncomfortable and wanted to get out of there and sleep alone, but the rest of her was alright with the arrangement, even if neither Drogo nor Daario had ever been cuddly. Silchas was holding her tight even in sleep and slipping out of the embrace without waking him up would be complicated and she didn't want to disturb him. In sleep, the tension disappeared from his features, making him look less stern and younger, handsomer, even. It was a sight.

She didn't love him, she barely knew him, but she had managed to connect with him, somehow. They were allies and that was what she needed now: not a lover who only lusted after her, not a husband who wanted her for her power, but a person with whom she could discuss on an equal footing, who she could trust to keep his part of the bargain while she did her best to keep hers, a partner.  
Daenerys repressed a giggle. She had been terribly reckless during the afternoon, but incredibly lucky in finding an ally who didn't look upon women as inferiors and with whom she could spend a pleasant night in bed. Daenerys closed her eyes again, willing herself to relax. It was not hard, she was tired in a thoroughly good way and her false husband's skin was warm, his hold somehow comforting, and his smell pleasant, almost familiar.

_"I am blood of the dragon too…" _he had told her, during the feast and she had easily believed him, even Drogon liked him, to the extent that he hadn't burned him to cinders. Maybe that was why she felt so safe where she was.  
Maybe that was why she went back to sleep so easily and visions and bad dreams avoided her that night.


	3. Real Men Ride Horses

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

**This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 23/05/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"  
**

**WARNINGS: implied sex. Nothing too bad.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.  
**

* * *

**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

The whole thing about dragon language being impossible to teach is taken from the comic "Elric: the making of a sorcerer", which has nothing to do with FMA and everything to do with dragons. I am also playing a little with Dany's ability to withstand fire to make her stand on a par with the boys.

Refugium is the pocket dimension where Rud used to live with his adoptive clan of Imass. They are Neanderthal, basically, and they do not ride horses.

Silchas is that emo even in the novels, honest, and playing with red-hot embers is a sort of shared quirk of his extended family.

For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:

Malazan Wiki  
Encyclopedia Malazica

* * *

The following morning, Rud slowly picked his way among the tents, while the clan woke and got ready for action. The night he had spent with Khara had been wonderful, if not restful, but he didn't really want to share a meal with her or make idle conversation, which would be pretty impossible anyway as she didn't know his language and he didn't know hers. Better to check on his companion and their improvised ally.

When Silchas told him about the plan, he had promptly acquiesced, seconding his judgement on their possibilities to get away on their own. He had never accessed his warren, Kurald Thyrllan, before, but here he could barely feel it, as if there was a screen separating him from its power. Maybe in this world, magic flowed differently. It would take time to adapt and, until they could open a gate, they were basically stranded there, wherever it was.

The Dragon Queen had impressed him with her cunning and cold determination and apparently had impressed his companion even more, judging from the scene he had witnessed the previous afternoon and the enthusiastic comments some of the warriors who knew the commercial tongue had made, approvingly, about his supposed "blood brother".  
Rud had accepted also that part of the plan with good grace. At the beginning of their travels together, Rud had considered the Tiste Andii as a father figure, a mentor, however slightly antagonistic, but, after their meeting with Olar Ethil, their relationship had inevitably changed. One cannot witness a man break down completely and painfully, cannot stand guard over a companion while he cries all his tears in grief and despair, and remain unmoved. He had probably lost the reluctant reverence he had had towards Silchas, but some sort of bond had been formed between them on that day and now the Tiste Andii felt closer to an older, more experienced brother to him. He couldn't substitute the brother he had lost, Anomander Rake, who had sacrificed himself to wake Mother Dark, and to whom Silchas' parting words, millennia before, must have been born of hate and resentment, to his present regret, but he would stand by his side, notwithstanding the shortcomings of their draconic blood.

When he reached the warleader's tent, Silchas was already awake, squatting beside a campfire and brewing more of his obnoxious but reinvigorating tea and idly playing with the embers. He couldn't be certain, as he had not known him for very long, but he looked slightly less controlled than his usual inscrutable, cold self, to the extent that some emotion played on his features.  
Rud approached the campfire and crouched next to him. Silchas smirked and poured him a cup of the pungent brew.  
"I guess you'll need it, after last night." he commented.  
Rud took a sip and returned the smirk. "From what I've been told, you should be in dire need of it too." he provoked amiably. Silchas coloured and poked at the embers.  
"I didn't know you understood the language of this tribe." he commented, sidetracking.  
"Some of them make themselves understood in the traders' tongue, not well, but surely enough for me to get the gist of the gossip. – Rud explained – They were impressed. Where is she now?" he asked, after downing a swallow of tea.  
Silchas glanced briefly at the tent behind them. "Still sleeping. – he replied – I didn't want to wake her, she is probably more tired than we are. She had been on her own for a while before we met her."  
Rud nodded in understanding, the human had looked half-starved when they met her, and Silchas remained silent for a while, contemplating the sun rising steadily on the horizon. For now it was cool enough, but soon it would become stifling hot as the previous day.  
"How do you feel?" Rud asked finally, to break the silence.  
"Confused. Unsettled. Awake." Silchas said softly, staring at his hands as if he had never seen them before, the shrugged and poured himself a cup of tea, drinking deeply. "The Queen is a strange woman, young and yet so old, broken and yet so innocent…" he sighed, setting his cup down.  
"I had never seen a human bond with an Eleint." Rud commented.  
"She has hatched Drogon and his siblings. – Silchas replied, squinting against the increasing glare – I guess they imprinted to her as they would to their mother. That and the fact that she has Eleint blood coursing in her veins." he added.  
"That would make three of us in the same place at the same time. – Rud commented – According to many, including you, it shouldn't bode well."  
"The two of us are getting along, nonetheless, and the queen's blood is not as strong as ours." the Andii replied, shrugging.  
"What about the mad ambition and megalomania you warned me against?" Rud insisted.  
"I have also told you that they can be overcome." Silchas added.  
"True enough." said Rud and from the expression on his companion's face he could imagine that he was thinking back at those first days of power-drunkenness, when the rift between him and his brother had been created, a rift that now he could never hope to mend anymore.

With a rustle of canvas, the queen slipped out of the tent and squatted down between them, greeting them with smiles.  
"What is that? - she asked, wrinkling her nose and pointing out at the teapot – It smells strong."  
"Silchas' favourite stinky tea. - Rud replied, downing another gulp – Tastes better than it smells, fortunately, and has more kick than a mule. Is that Andian?" he asked to his companion.  
Silchas sneered. "No, Letherii. It helps staying awake and alert and dulls pains and aches. – he replied – And it still tastes better than most Imass medicinal brews."  
Rud nodded, conceding the point, and the queen sniggered.  
"Can I have a cup too? – she asked – I slept heavenly well, but I still feel tired." she confessed, stretching like a cat.  
Rud couldn't help but grin maliciously and, while Silchas looked irritated again, the queen didn't seem offended by his silent remark and accepted Silchas' cup with a smile, sipping from it.  
"It won't give me visions or weird dreams, will it?" she asked, worried, after a few moments.  
Both men shook their heads and the queen looked relieved.

Seeing that they were all awake, some women from the clan arrived with some sort of liquid porridge and cheese, bowing to them all and beating a hasty retreat. They tucked into their food with appetite, eating silently and, in the case of the queen, ravenously. Rud couldn't help but stare: she looked dainty and gracious, but, like the previous afternoon, she was eating like a famished trooper and he knew about that, he had seen Hedge eat, back in Refugium.  
This time the queen blushed, looking quite embarrassed. "Sorry about this, but I haven't eaten properly in days. – she explained – It feels good to stuff one's face, after being so hungry." she confessed candidly.  
Rud nodded in agreement, even if, fortunately, he hadn't ever felt the bite of famine in his life before. His adoptive clan was lucky and parsimonious, making good use of the rich hunting grounds and of the gifts of the forest, and they had never wanted anything.

"So, what's the plan, now, Queen of Mereen? – Silchas asked – Do we march to your city?"  
"We ride to my city. – she clarified – To a dothraki, a man who doesn't ride isn't even a man. You are a khal, now, - she said to Silchas – and you his bloodrider – she added, pointing to him – you will have to ride. Are you able to?" she asked anxiously.  
Silchas nodded. "It has been ages since I last had to ride, but yes, I know how. – he replied – I used to ride with my brothers when we were young, in Kharkanas." he added, with a hint of regret.  
The queen nodded, satisfied. "And you?" she asked to him.  
Rud blanched. "I've never ridden before, fair lady. My tribe does not ride. We do not have horses." he replied, mortified and ashamed.  
The queen cursed under her breath, looking very distressed.

"I can try, fair lady. – he added – Give me a well-behaved beast and let me take it easy at the beginning, I am sure I can learn."  
The queen looked at him somewhat sceptically, then sighed. "We have no other option, Rud Elalle. I will choose a horse for you, the only thing I beg of you is this: do not fall. Understood? You cannot let yourself fall from the saddle." she instructed with a febrile gleam in her purple eyes.  
Rud nodded solemnly, even if he didn't understood what was all that about. Probably it was some tribal superstition, he mused.  
"We can attach him to the rear-guard, following the wagons, until he accustoms." Silchas proposed but the queen shook her head.  
"It won't work: the khalasar will gossip asking why your bloodrider is not beside you." she replied, dejectedly. Both him and Silchas cursed loudly, turning towards her, who gave them an apologetic and pained look.  
"I will keep up, do not worry." he offered.  
"He is a fast study, Queen of Mereen. – Silchas confirmed somewhat warmly – He won't let us down." For some reason, this praise, coming from the usually snarky Andii made him feel proud.  
"Alright, - she sighed – the two of us will ride beside you, then, Silchas Ruin. We'll keep the pace of the khalasar slow." she said, but the anguish about her city was apparent. It was clear that she would have wanted to gallop all the way to Mereen.  
"We'll send outriders as far as we can, - Silchas proposed, concerned – I guess your people will be looking for you." he added.  
"I hope to the gods it is so. – she replied – If I were ser Barristan, I'd send my bloodriders out. If we are lucky, we might meet them in a few days." she said, a bit more hopefully.

A dark shadow passed over the tents, circling high in the sky. The three of them looked up and saw the Eleint surveying the camp almost lazily, barely beating his leathery wings as he rode on a thermal current. Rud hadn't spent too much time in his Eleint form, but enough to know that it looked enjoyable.  
"What about your "child"?" Silchas asked, looking down at her again.  
The queen sighed again. "I will have to ask you to tell him to fly overhead again, I guess. – she said – I wish I could ride him, we could scout much farther, that way, but I wouldn't be able to tell him where to go… - she confessed with regret, then turned towards Silchas – I need you to teach me how to talk to him." she added sternly.

The Tiste Andii didn't reply, but scooped up a handful of coals from the still-burning campfire and started rolling them between his hands, without the least sign of discomfort. Rud was used to seeing him do this but the girl looked at him wide-eyed, watching him handle the red-hot coals without burning, until, looking straight into her eyes, he grabbed her hand and dropped the coals on her palm. She made a fearful sound and tried to withdraw her hand, dropping the coals, but his grip was ferocious and unwavering. Rud, startled by the suddenness of the situation, moved too late to spare the girl from Silchas' sudden cruelty, and by then, the queen had already stopped struggling and was looking down at her hand with wonder.  
"Does it hurt?" Silchas asked.  
"No, it feels… good." she breathed softly, looking into the Tiste Andii's cold, red eyes.  
"Daenerys the Unburnt, indeed. Blood of the dragon." he commented with a strange glint in his eyes. It looked like respect. Respect and hunger.  
"Was this a test? – the girl hissed, furious – What if I burned? What if I failed? Would you have refused to teach me? Would you have refused any help at all?"  
"I would have helped you save your people anyway, Queen of Mereen, – he replied, still unfazed in the face of her anger – but I couldn't have taught you the language of the Eleint." he added.  
"Why?" she asked, her anger subsiding fast.  
"Because it is not a language that can be thaught. –he replied, brushing now-blackened coals and ash from her hand – It is in the blood, it only needs to be remembered." he added. Rud nodded in support. The first time he had veered, the words had come unbidden to his mind, sounds a human would not recognise as language, even more primitive than the Imass tongue, and yet so subtle, so rich of meaning, made to describe concepts land-bound creatures could not understand.

The queen sighed. "I should have known it would involve more visions." she protested, but half-heartedly. Underneath, Rud could see her joy at the prospect of being able to communicate with Drogon.  
"I will try to make you remember it by more mundane means, while we ride, but yes, it might come to that." Silchas admitted.  
Daenerys nodded. "I will do whatever is needed. – she declared, eyes shining with determination and Rud believed her words – I think Drogon might be able to carry one of you, if not both. We could scout, later." she proposed, after a brief pause of contemplation.  
"We could." SIlchas acquiesced.

Rud nodded as well and privately thought that it was indeed a good idea, but since he couldn't even ride a horse, he thought it would be best for him to acquire some confidence at the ground level, before taking to the air and hoped his two companions would see it as well. Fat chance of that, he thought, seeing how the two of them were looking at each other. It looked like his companion hadn't been the only one to get aroused by their little game with fire. Silchas was a lucky bastard.  
Rud imagined that they would end up returning inside the tent and having another go at it. He didn't really mind, if there was someone who needed a bit of distraction after being buried in a hole for all that time, it was Silchas. Why, the experience might even make his comrade a bit less mopey, he thought, amusedly. Except that it wouldn't. His grief was not something that could be kissed and made better, not even by a woman as beautiful and out of the ordinary as their ally, it was a part of him probably from before his breakdown, the news about his brother and the taunts about their mother were probably just the last straw. Living for so long couldn't but fill a person with regrets and sorrows, he mused. Would that be his fate as well, with time?

He shook his head, turning his attention to the present again. Silchas and Daenerys were still shooting interested glances at each other above the campfire, sipping at their tea. He would bet his money that it would be her to make her move first, but before anything of the sort could happen, a warrior appeared before them, puffing his chest up and declaring something.  
"He says that the khalasar is ready to ride." Daenerys translated, and Rud fancied he could hear an undercurrent of irritation at being interrupted in her voice.  
Silchas nodded and stood up, rubbing the ash away from his hands. "Then we ride." he commented, helping her up.  
Rud sighed and stood up as well. He was so not looking forward to this.

Later, Rud was struggling to stay in the saddle, feeling uncertain and nervous. He was riding to the left of Silchas, while Daenerys was to his right and, to his chagrin, looked like she had been born on a damned saddle. His only consolation was that Silchas also didn't look very confident or comfortable on the saddle. He had requisitioned a cloak of a light material called sandsilk and was wrapped completely in it, the reins disappearing in the folds. It looked a bit ridiculous, but riding under the full glare of the sun wouldn't be really fun for him. Not that riding was turning out to be fun in any way.  
His thighs hurt, his butt hurt and it felt like his nuts were being crushed. He hoped that Khara, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn't snatch him for another roll in the hay, later in the night, because he didn't think he could manage it.  
Overhead, Drogon was sailing the thermal currents, flying in lazy circles over the clan and occasionally bathing them in shade. Rud looked up wistfully and with a hint of envy.  
"I wish we could just veer." Silchas confessed with a grimace, turning on the saddle.  
Yes, riding must be really horrible if even his usually stoic comrade was complaining about it.  
Rud sighed.  
How long to Mereen?


	4. Sailing the Grass Sea

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

**This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 04/06/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"  
**

**WARNINGS: implied sex. Nothing too bad.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.  
**

* * *

**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

The Tiste Andii share a link to emo, sorrowful exile with Tolkien's elves. It is one of the main plot points of the saga.

Sheltatha Lore, aka Sister Dusk, is another Soletaken ascendant, a Tiste Edur, therefore grey-skinned, which was sealed in the same Azath burial ground as Silchas by her two half-sisters. Talk about screwed-up families...

Anomander Rake is a womaniser, yes. I have counted at least five lady loves and six or seven children of his during the novels. And Silchas got mistaken for a Liosan at least once or twice.

Draconus is an Elder God, who was for a time consort of Mother Dark. Her already grown sons were not thrilled, to be honest.

For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:

Malazan Wiki  
Encyclopedia Malazica

* * *

Riding with the khalasar was at the same time easier and harder than Silchas Ruin could have anticipated. Easier as, after the first few days of pain and embarrassment, his body accustomed again to the strain and the motion, harder as the whole situation echoed some of his most painful memories and yet was so dissimilar.

Every time he turned on the saddle, he fully expected to see his host marching in the gloom behind him, desperate and hollow eyed, an army of the lost in search of a new home after Kharkanas had burned, walking silently on the road opened by a blind poet, yet under his eyes was a noisy, rowdy column of horsewarriors, scouts breaking away and returning, youths racing each other, women jabbering away. They were not fleeing, they were just riding as they always did, as they always would, leading the herds in search of fresh pastures, raiding neighbour lands for gold and slaves, battling against enemy clans, in short leading their simple but complex life of perpetual motion. Not his life, not his people, but now his responsibility, his and his false wife's.

Even he was surprised at how easily he had slipped in the role of warleader to this clan. During the daily ride, the queen had taught him and Rud the basics of the dothraki language, enough to make themselves understood and, with her discreet help, he was managing the tribe, selecting outriders, hearing reports, commanding when and where to strike the camp. The horsewarriors were wary of him, as they would be of any stranger, more so of a stranger who didn't even look human like them, but they obeyed him and it was enough, for now. At least until they arrived upon the armies that besieged Mereen, to engage them in battle.

Silchas sighed. Luckily, Rud was much friendlier than he was and was slowly worming his way into the respect and camaraderie of many capable young warriors, who apparently, didn't mind that their warleader was a bit weird, as long as there would be glory on their path and gold on their wagons at the end. Those warriors would be instrumental in the days to come, when he would need reasonably trustworthy captains to lead the clan into battle. He was not expert enough in cavalry manouvres to do it himself and Rud was even more hopeless on the saddle than he was.

Silchas shook his head, making the bells chime again, but this time he didn't get irritated by it. The noise had been his constant companion for many days now and he almost didn't notice it anymore.  
He had slipped easily in the role of warleader, indeed, and even more easily in the role of husband to the queen.

Every day, she rode beside him, posed and proud, and as they rode she taught him the dothraki language and he tried to make her remember that of the Eleint, with tantalising results but not an overall success, despite her burning desire to know.

Every afternoon they mounted on Drogon's back, scouting ahead in search of the queen's outriders, and every time the queen was more frantic and distressed by their absence, worrying about her people, her city, and he would have liked to console her, but he couldn't find the words.

Every night they retired to the warleader's tent and she undid his braid and applied a smelly salve to his reddened and peeling skin where the sun had managed to reach it despite the cloak, her hands gentle and her voice soft as they spoke some more, planning for the day ahead, until there was nothing left to say. Every night they would kiss and, as inevitably as night falls, their kisses would grow into something more, something heated and primal and utterly exhilarating.

It was not love, but it was not even just sex. He could not define it, but he was happy of having it, however temporarily, and he reluctantly admitted to liking to sleep beside her more than it was appropriate. Her skin was soft and she smelled lightly of Eleint and he was sure that it was not just her closeness to Drogon, it was her, purely her, and that in his world she would be Soletaken just as he was and he couldn't help but be enticed by the notion. He liked to wrap his arms around her and hold her close while they drifted to sleep. Skin-to-skin contact was wonderful after so much time when the best he had had was kicking Sheltatha Lore away while the grey bitch tried to drag him back into the Aazth mound.

There was only one thing in which he had never tried to compete with his brother Anomander when they were younger and it was amorous escapades, with reason. His brother was the epitome of Andii beauty and could have, and usually had, all the women he wanted, while he looked fundamentally wrong, more like a Liosan than an Andii, and this put most women off. Maybe not all of them after all, since his own mother had married with the Liosan god Father Light, but things had been much more difficult for him than for his brothers, and yet this time someone had chosen him and he was glad of it…

His queen's voice distracted him from his pleasant if bittersweet considerations, making him startle slightly.  
"You were far away again. – she commented when he turned towards her – Still thinking about your people?" she asked sympathetically.  
Silchas shook his head under the hood but did not reply. It would sound pathetic if he told her that he had been thinking about her. The queen sighed but didn't pry.  
"How about a bit of scouting?" she asked, pointing towards her Eleint, who was circling overhead, cavorting in the thermals.  
"By all means." he replied. She had tried to take Rud with her once or twice, but apparently the boy didn't have a head for heights while in his sembled form, which was quite hilarious.  
"When I'm veered, I know I will not fall, but I do not like to be at the mercy of someone else while in the air." the boy had protested, crossing his arms over his chest with a petulant expression. Even Drogon had sniggered in his own way and the queen had desisted from taking him with her to scout.

Deep down Silchas was quite glad of it. He had not liked the way the boy had wrapped his arms around her when they were on the Eleint's back or the way she had smiled to Rud, trying to reassure him not to speak of when he had heard her comment sweetly about the peach fuzz that had started to show on the half-human's cheeks. The latter had made his blood boil in his veins and he had had to stamp very hard on the whispers of his cursed blood to keep calm. He knew he had no right to feel possessive, but the urge to thrash the boy quite thoroughly had been undeniable, even if he had not acted upon it.

Shaking his head again, as if to clear such thoughts from his mind, he extended his senses towards the Eleint, contacting his mind.  
"_Your Mother wants another ride, Drogon. Are you up to it?_" he asked. He felt the Eleint's laughter inside his mind, then the hatchling replied. "_Always. Are you, White Khal? Or should I call you Pink-spotted Khal?_" he provoked, as always, sniggering.  
Silchas snorted but let the comment pass unanswered, as it was true that he had acquired a few pink blotches because of the sun, especially on his face and hands. He would not give Drogon the satisfaction of showing irritation at his comments.  
"_Get your scaly backside down, then_." he instructed curtly and the Eleint obediently banked, landing a few hundred paces away from the column. The first few times, the horsewarriors had scattered in panic, but they had grown accustomed to the Eleint's presence by now, even if they still complained about the regular thefts of horses and other cattle.

Silchas and the queen dismounted and approached the Eleint on foot, as horses were understandably wont to shy away and bolt near him. Drogon flattened himself to the ground as much as possible to allow his "mother" to swing herself on his back, then straightened perceptibly, leaving him to fend for himself, as usual. The little bastard was jealous of the relationship between him and his "mother" and lost no occasion to show it, he mused, scrambling on board not quite gracefully and settling himself behind the queen and wrapping an arm around her waist while he grabbed one of the spikes jutting from Drogon's back to brace himself. With a bunching of muscles and a snapping of wings, the Eleint was airborne, climbing steadily higher with great heaves of his wings until he reached a thermal current and could pause, gliding effortlessly.

Silchas felt like laughing, even if he was only a passenger. It was exhilarating and, by the large grin plastered on the queen's face he could see that she was enjoying herself as much as he was. He was suddenly gripped by the impulse to kiss her, but restrained himself. It would be unwise to provoke the Eleint's ire and he remembered how much he had wanted to wipe Draconus off the face of the earth every time he caught him smooching with his mother. No, best to keep his hands and everything else to himself, for now, he decided. There would be always time for that later that night.

"_I see riders approaching." _the Eleint declared, jarring him out of his train of thought. Silchas looked around, trying to spot them. It was entirely possible that they would still be too far away for him to see: Eleints had a prodigious long-distance vision. He squinted against the sunlight and finally managed to see something in the distance, still as small as ants.  
"_I've seen them."_ he confirmed, then let go of the spike, pointing towards the spot.  
"Riders, my queen." he told his companion, who whipped her head towards the fast-approaching strangers.  
"Gods, let them be my bloodriders." he heard her whisper fervently, leaning forwards as if she could see them better like this.  
"_White Khal!_ – the Eleint exclaimed loudly, his mental voice echoing almost painfully in his mind _– I know them! Tell Mother! It is Aggo and Rakharo! Tell Mother now!_" he declared, the glee evident in his voice.  
Silchas acquiesced. "Drogon said it is them, my queen." he said with satisfaction. On the queen's face dawned a smile brighter than the sun and she half-turned and kissed him fiercely, then leaned against him, tears of joy streaming down her face.  
"We're going home." she whispered and he held her tight.  
Drogon rumbled ominously, but he couldn't care less of his jealously at the moment.

No one could say that Rakharo didn't have faith in his Khaleesi, or rather, no one could say it and live, but he admitted to feel a bit disheartened about the success of their quest by now. Whitebeard had sent them out to find her anyway, but most people in the city believed that she was dead and, after so many days of riding without seeing a single trace of her, Rakharo was starting to believe it as well. The old knight had asked the impossible of them, tracking something that left almost no tracks, but he would not desist. His Khaleesi had not desisted even when everything had seemed so bleak that he had just wanted to curl up and die, had given them a purpose and glory and for that he would search for her to the end of the world, if need be, even if every day of riding lessened his hopes of finding her still alive.

"The horses are tired, Rakharo. – one of his men said – Maybe we should stop and resume our search tomorrow." he proposed, and a few heads bobbed in approval. It was not just the horses, the men were tired as well: Rakharo had set an unforgiving pace and none had complained, but their faith was wavering with every passing day, he knew it.  
"There are still a couple of hours before twilight. – he replied – We'll stop then." he declared curtly. The rider shook his head. "We'll end up killing the horses and ourselves by keeping this pace, bloodrider. – he commented sadly – We're many miles away from the city and we have to go back there, eventually."  
"I'm not going back until I find her." Rakharo replied, colouring.  
"You know that you might never go back, then, do you? – the man insisted – She might be dead." he said, finally voicing what they had been skirting around for the last few days.  
"Do not be silly, Roqo. – another rider said – A son can never kill his own mother, it is known." he declared, not totally convinced. Roqo shrugged but didn't reply and silence fell again on the small band of outriders as they cantered through the grasses.

Aggo brought his mount beside Rakharo's and leaned towards him to whisper. "I know it sounds like betrayal, my brother, but we have to consider returning empty-handed. – his blood-brother said – Whitebeard will need us for the defence of the city."  
Rakharo didn't reply, keeping his eyes trained on his mount's neck.  
"If we couldn't save her, we can always save her children before joining her in the Heavenly Grasslands, brother. Think about it." Aggo suggested wistfully. Rakharo felt his hopes plummet now that even Aggo was doubting of their success, but didn't want to let go. He turned towards his blood-brother with anger in his heart and a scathing reply on his lips, but a startled cry distracted them both.  
"Holy Mother of Mountains! – exclaimed one of the youngest riders, a boy of four-and-ten with a bare trace of moustache on his lips but two bells already in his hair, one for Yunkai and one for Mereen – Look to the sky!" he cried, pointing.  
The whole band of outriders turned as one.

To northwest there was something in the sky, something that looked like a huge bird, except that the shape was all wrong, the wings much longer and an unmistakable tail whipping lazily in the air.  
"The firehorse!" Aggo exclaimed.  
Rakharo felt hope dawning again in his heart and, with a wordless cry, spurred his horse savagely, devouring the plain at a gallop. She had to be alive, she had to, and he would see her safely home, even if it cost him his life.  
"Rakharo!" he heard Aggo exclaim, then his blood-brother cursed and the rest of the band set out after him. Rakharo didn't even turn to glance at them, eyes fixed on the firehorse, which was becoming bigger and more defined at every passing minute as the distance lessened.

He thought he was deluding himself into seeing something fair and bright on the beast's back, but then the firehorse banked sharply and landed among the grass, a few hundred paces in front of him.  
Ralharo sawed on the reins, forcing his mount to stop suddenly, then a tall cloaked figure jumped down from the firehorse's back and, a moment later, another shorter and silver-haired one let herself be helped down by the first one.

The outriders stood still, except for the fidgeting of the horses, awestruck, as the two figures approached and they clearly recognised their lost khaleesi, decked in dothraki clothes.  
Rakharo dismounted and lowered himself to his knees, tears of joy filling his eyes, then all his companions followed his suit. She had gone in isolation in the deepest Sea, as in the legends of the first taming, and she had returned, whole and unscathed, the firehorse tamed. Again, Rakharo was aware of having just witnessed something out of a legend.

"Blood of my blood. – the khaleesi said sweetly, tears bathing her face as well – You've travelled far to find me, but fear not. You've found me now and I'll be coming home with you." she declared, while the cloaked person stood silent in the background.  
Rakharo was struck completely dumb by the awe of the moment, but Aggo, always more practical than his blood-brother found his voice soon enough.  
"We have food and water for you Khaleesi. You must be tired. – he offered – And for your companion too." he added, with a hint of a question in his voice. Everyone was wondering who her companion could be.  
"Dear Aggo, blood of my blood, - she said with a smile – thanks for the offer, but there is no need, I am perfectly fine. You look weary, instead, but we are no more than a couple of hours away from Khal Silchas' khalasar, where you can rest." she added gracefully.

Rakharo quirked his eyebrows in surprise and disbelief. He had never heard of any khal with that name, it was not even a dothraki name.  
"And who would that khal be? – he asked, his hand sliding to the hilt of his arakh – Why would he give us shelter?" he added, wary.  
"Because." the cloaked stranger replied in a quiet, strangely accented voice. Definitely not dothraki, Rakharo mused and turned towards him in disbelief.  
"Are you him? Show yourself, then, khal, for only cowards hide their faces." he challenged. Why was his Khaleesi consorting with a foreign khal?  
Khal Silchas turned towards their Khaleesi as if to ask permission, and she nodded. The stranger sighed and drew back the hood of his cloak.

"A demon!" Rakharo exclaimed upon seeing his narrow, elongated features, his slanted blood-red eyes and his bone-white skin. He gripped the hilt of his arakh and tensed his muscles, ready to pounce, but the ghastly khal whipped his cloak away and unsheathed two curved swords in less than a heartbeat, which stopped Rakharo in his tracks.  
"I am not dothraki, as you can see. – he said somewhat hesitantly as if he had to struggle to find the right words – I have defeated khal Jhaqo and two of his bloodriders in a fair duel. Now I am khal and I will help your khaleesi. Challenge me and I'll kill you." he concluded sternly, bells chiming in his braid.  
Their Khaleesi walked towards him and laid a hand on his wiry white arm, as if to calm him, then turned towards her outriders. "Blood of my blood, – she said soothingly – my sun-and-stars, – she added, turning towards the ghastly khal – be calm, there is nothing to fight for, now."  
Rakharo's jaw dropped at her words. "Khaleesi, you married him…" he whispered in disbelief.  
His Khaleesi nodded.

"We are allies. - the ghastly khal added, sheathing his swords. - I do not demand fealty of you, bloodriders. Your khaleesi commands you and her other children. I command khalasar. We fight together. Allies." he repeated, trying to explain himself.  
"Yes, blood of my blood. – the Khaleesi confirmed – Allies. We need their help to relieve Mereen form the siege."  
Aggo nodded. "The slavers could never hope to resist the might of the dothraki. – he commented – It is known." Many other voices concurred and Rakharo couldn't help but join in.  
"It is known, indeed. – the Khaleesi confirmed – I will need you for this, blood of my blood. It is not time for challenges and enmity. Follow us to the khalasar, there are many things we need to talk about." she instructed.  
"Aye, Khaleesi." they replied as one and mounted back in the saddle, while she and the ghastly khal climbed back on the firehorse's back. A clap of huge leathery wings and they were aloft, flying due northwest. The outriders followed the huge shape as it glided effortlessly in the air towards the setting sun. It was amazing, simply unbelievable. His Khaleesi had performed another small miracle and Rakharo felt a renewed faith in her. If she had decided to marry that demon, there must be a damned good reason for it, he decided, pushing his wariness towards the man in a corner of his mind.

In due time they came in sight of great dothraki camp. Some scouts recognised them, they had all been part of Khal Drogo's khalasar once, after all, and greeted them respectfully. Rakharo counted at least two thousand able-bodied warriors and some fierce-looking unblooded boys. He smiled. They were going to rip those ridiculous slavers into pieces, he thought.  
It would be good to bring salvation instead of destruction once again.


	5. Dreamquests and BloodTrails

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

**This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 05/06/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"  
**

**WARNINGS: remembered violence. Nothing too graphic.  
**

**Cameos of many Targaryen characters including not-yet-mad or rather no-longer-mad Aerys, Rhaegar, Shiera Seastar and Bloodraven. If you think you know who the others are, feel free to leave your guesses in the reviews.**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.  
**

* * *

**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

The Tiste Andii share a link to emo, sorrowful exile with Tolkien's elves. It is one of the main plot points of the saga.

Sheltatha Lore, aka Sister Dusk, is another Soletaken ascendant, a Tiste Edur, therefore grey-skinned, which was sealed in the same Azath burial ground as Silchas by her two half-sisters. Talk about screwed-up families...

Anomander Rake is a womaniser, yes. I have counted at least five lady loves and six or seven children of his during the novels. And Silchas got mistaken for a Liosan at least once or twice.

Draconus is an Elder God, who was for a time consort of Mother Dark. Her already grown sons were not thrilled, to be honest.

For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:

Malazan Wiki  
Encyclopedia Malazica

* * *

It had been a long time since Rakharo had last enjoyed a proper dothraki feast, with sweetgrass and horseblood stew, fermented mare milk and roasted meat. There was nothing wrong with foreign food, except maybe some of the crap the Mereneese ate, like insects and dogs, but dothraki food was just better and more nutritious, it was known, and after days of meagre fare, he was ravenous.

Seated at the khal's table, but on their khaleesi's side, Rakharo and Aggo stuffed their faces, but kept an eye on the rest of the company. Apart from the two of them, a strange red-haired warrior who looked like a cousin of the khal and a couple of the khalasar's captains were sharing their Khaleesi and the ghastly khal's fare.  
Conversation so far had been hampered by the poor linguistic skills of the two foreigners and the bloodriders' own appetite, but, as soon as they had calmed down a bit, the Khaleesi promptly breached the most important matter.

"What is the situation in Mereen, blood of my blood? Are we still under siege?" she asked, worried.  
"Yes, Khaleesi. - Aggo replied, washing the unpleasant taste of his words with a draught of mare milk – The slavers will not back down."  
"But on the bright side, Whitebeard arrested the Consort. – Rakharo added – The candied locusts were poisoned."  
The Khaleesi gaped in surprise and worry. "Strong Belwas! Is he dead?" she asked, wringing her hands.  
Rakharo shook his head, making the bells in his braid chime. The fact that the ghastly khal had as many bells as he had was elating, if a bit worrying, but he was not dothraki and apparently he had acquired all the three of them in the same day, nay, in the space of a few minutes, which was no mean feat.  
"He is ill, but still alive. He is strong as a bull, blood of my blood. He will survive." he declared, assuredly. The Khaleesi seemed slightly more relaxed at his words.

"What about of the Pale Mare?" she asked.  
Rakharo shook his head again. "Still rampaging, the only consolation is that it is affecting the slavers' army as well." he replied with a shiver. That was one very dishonourable and horrible way of going, crapping one's own bowels to the death.  
The Khaleesi sighed. "Meagre consolation. – she said – How many days to Mereen, you judge?" she asked.  
Rakharo mused on the answer a bit and looked to his blood-brother for help. "We combed the Great Grass Sea in widening circles and it took us a lot to find you…" Aggo began.  
"But?" she chimed in.  
"But, in a straight line it could be as few as five days of riding." Rakharo concluded and Aggo nodded agreeing with his assessment.  
The Khaleesi sighed in relief, then turned to the ghastly khal and talked to him in the merchants' tongue. The khal nodded and asked something else, then turned to the rest of the table, raising two fingers.  
"Two. Two days as the Eleint flies." he declared. Rakharo imagined that he must be referring to the firehorse and nodded in agreement. Drogon was a fast and tireless flier.  
The ghastly kahl asked something else to their khaleesi, who replied extensively, then the red-haired bloodrider chimed in, looking a bit dismayed, but both the khal and the khaleesi rebuffed him and he quieted, paling under his gold tan.

"Our khal's bloodrider is scared of flying. He looks as pale as the khal when he gets off the firehorse." one of the kos whispered, conspiratorially.  
"Who wouldn't be, Rakko? It is so high up there." commented the other.  
"Aye, Qorro, men are not made for flying, it is known." Rakko added, thoughtfully.  
Both Rakharo and Aggo nodded in agreement. Men were not, but their khaleesi was not a normal person. She was special, fire didn't burn her and she was not afraid of being so high among the clouds, and apparently neither was the foreign khal, much to Rakharo's chagrin. Did she see the dead warriors riding the Celestial Plains when she was riding her firehorse?

"Do you understand what they are saying?" Aggo asked. Both him and Rakaro could make themselves understood in the merchants' tongue but they were speaking so fast that he could understand a word in ten.  
Qorro nodded. "They are thinking of leaving us in command and flying to Mereen to rally the rest of the army." he explained sourly.  
"Our khal should lead us in battle, not hide behind the walls of the milk men's stone-tents, whatever an Eleint might be." Rakko commented.  
Rakharo laughed in his cup of mare milk. "An Eleint is a firehorse." he explained, feeling quite confident of his interpretation.  
"What of it?" the two kos asked in unison.  
"There are two more in Mereen." he replied and saw with satisfaction their faces falling.  
"Two more?" asked Qorro. Aggo nodded.  
"Three dragons. Three riders. – Rakharo explained, raising three fingers – Your khal is going to find himself the mightiest mount in the world. After Drogon, that is." he added.  
The two kos gaped at him like stranded fish. Rakharo couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the two older warriors, who had never given him a second glance when they had all been members of Khal Drogo's khalasar, hanging on his every word as he told them the story of the hatching of the dragons and the legends of Old Valyria as best as he could, with the help of his blood-brother, while the discussion between the khaleesi, the khal and his bloodrider continued.  
Some things were worth the wait, he told himself.

The ancient shoulderwoman was chanting as she threw sweet-smelling herbs into the brazier, the syllables repeating themselves as the song wound back upon itself as a snake that bites its own tail. The seeds popped and sizzled on the embers, releasing fumes in the still air of the tent.

Danaerys was holding a wooden cup between her hands, worn smooth and slick with use. Its bowl was full of a dark, viscous liquid, a mixture of herbs with a dash of horse blood that the shamans used to make their spirit fly towards the Heavenly Grasslands and commune with their ancestors. The shaman had been sceptical about administering it to her, an uninitiated, but both she and Silchas had insisted and, at the end, pressured by both khal and khaleesi, the woman had relented.

The khalasar was sleeping all around them, her bloodriders right outside her tent in a small tent of their own. Only she, Silchas, Rud and the shaman were still awake. The two men were sitting on stools next to the bed, where she was now sitting and her body would later lie, as her spirit travelled away, to fully awaken the dragon inside her.  
The shaman stopped chanting and looked at Daenerys expectantly, gesturing for her to drink from the cup. Daenerys raised the cup to her lips to drink, screwing her nose at the foul smell of the concoction, but Silchas stopped her, grabbing her wrist gently.  
"Get the woman out, my queen. – he asked - That would not be enough for your travel and I do not want anyone else to see the rest." he added softly, pointing to the cup. Daenerys looked a question to him, but he didn't seem overly inclined to elaborate. She sighed and set the cup down, ordering the woman out. She looked like she was going to complain, but one look at Silchas' face shattered her resolve and she scurried outside.

"What is wrong with this foul brew?" Daenerys asked, slightly irritated.  
"Nothing is wrong, my queen. – Silchas replied – It will be enough for you to travel, but it cannot give you direction." he explained then turned towards Rud.  
"I need you knife, my friend." he said and the red-haired warrior took the stone knife from his belt and handed it hilt-first to Silchas, who then gestured to her to bring the cup nearer.  
"What are you..?" she started to ask, but, before she could complete the sentence, the albino Andii had already slashed his left palm with the blade and was letting his blood drip into the brew.

Daenerys gasped and made to withdraw her hand, but he dropped the knife and grabbed her wrist, keeping her in place in an iron grip.  
"Why are you doing this? Silchas, I want answers!" she protested, slightly nauseated. He let her hand go and quickly wrapped a bandage around his hand, staunching the flow.  
"Blood of the dragon. It will give direction to your dreams. - he replied softly – The alternative would have been to use Drogon's blood, but you would have never agreed to it." he added and she nodded. He knew her too well, already.  
"What if I end up seeing your ancestors, instead of mine?" she asked.  
Silchas laughed harshly and without merriment. "I doubt you will. You have already travelled in spirit, haven't you? – he asked and Daeenerys nodded again, feeling a chill at the thought – Then you know that you have to concentrate on your target and ignore anything else. You'll do fine, my queen." he said reassuringly.  
"Yes, fair lady. – Rud chimed in – Think of your family and only of that. You'll find the answer in your blood."  
"Is this really necessary?" she asked, looking again in the now-red depths of the cup, trying to muster the courage to drink it down.  
Silchas nodded. "If we were in our world, I would have taught you how to veer and you would have remembered, but in this world this is the only option." he explained.  
"Do you really think I would turn into a dragon, in your world?" she asked, still incredulous. Silchas had told her about Eleint and Soletaken and how he had become one of them, but it sounded so fantastic. Blood of the dragon in his world was much more literal than in hers. She still struggled to believe that both her improvised allies were as much dragons as they were people.  
"Oh yes, my queen." he replied with a glint in his eye that made her blush, as if he was certain that he would have liked her even in that other form. For a second Daenerys wondered if dragons had as much fun mating as humans had.  
Rud cleared his throat and they both blushed harder, to which he sniggered.

"Let's do it then." she said resolutely, trying to stamp down on all distractions.  
Silchas nodded. "We will be here beside you. – he reassured – Rud will try to guide you out if anything goes amiss."  
"I've done it for many initiations in my tribe, don't worry." the younger man confirmed, smiling.  
Daenerys nodded, settling more comfortably on the bed and raised the cup in a mock toast, then drank deep, trying to ignore the taste, but failing. She gagged at the bitter and metallic taste and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, thrusting the cup into Silchas' hands. Her head started to spin and the tent suddenly seemed too bright, even if the only light came from the brazier. She closed her eyes, swaying slightly even seated.

Warm hands were on her shoulders and guided her down, helping her to stretch on the bed, then fleetingly and softly on her face, in what must have been a caress.  
"Dream, my queen… - said a soft, deep voice – Dream of dragons… Dream of your ancestors… And do not fear the Dark."  
Daenerys would have wanted to grab his hand and keep him with her, but her arms would not respond, as heavy as lead, and her voice was trapped inside her head. He withdrew and the darkness engulfed her, but he had told her not to be afraid and she would not be. His blood would make her a path, she thought, and, as soon as she thought it, she could see it, glistening black-red in the darkness and, without doubt, she set out on it.  
"Bring me to the dragons." she said, walking resolutely, without even thinking about turning back.

The keep was burning, roaring flames engulfed it and soared to the stars. People were still running away from the conflagration, blackened and coughing, some badly burned.  
"The king, the king is still inside!" someone shouted. One of the towers collapsed in a gout of flames, the wooden frames eaten up by the flames. There was no way of dousing the fire and the survivors looked at the harrowing scene with a lost look in their eyes. Among the crowd, Daenerys could see a couple of knights of the White Guard, now grey with soot, and a man in a black, old-fashioned doublet. Even soot-stained, his hair and beard were unmistakably silver-white. He was crying.

Suddenly, something came out of the burning castle, running as fast as it could. It turned out to be a young man with long, fair hair, carrying an unmistakably pregnant and equally young and fair-haired woman. The young man, soot-stained but unburned, collapsed in the courtyard, coughing, and set the woman down.  
"Call a maester! – he croaked, between fits of coughing – She is giving birth now!"  
A maester hurried towards them with a worried expression and, unmindful of propriety, lifted her gown to examine the situation.  
The young man looked away, still coughing, and the silver-haired man in black approached him with a pained expression.  
"Aerys, my son, have you seen anyone else? Is anyone still alive?" the man asked. Aerys shook his head, tears streaking his sooty face, revealing the fair skin underneath.  
Daenerys inched nearer, curious and invisible to anyone. Those two must be some of her ancestors, she mused.  
Even if none else had reacted in any way to her presence, the young man stilled and stopped crying all of a sudden, slowly turning towards her and before she knew, Daenerys found herself pinned by dark purple, almost black eyes.  
She had already seen those eyes before.

_A tall, gaunt man was standing on the steps of a throne made of twisted and tangled swords, his hair and beard more white than silver, a tangled and snarled mess.  
"Let me be the king of ashes." he had said to someone in the memory, then his eyes had seen beyond them, right to her, even if she was standing in the House of the Undying in Qarth, a thousand miles away and sixteen years in the future. Dark purple eyes, eyes that had seen too much for too long. A wistful smile appeared on the king's lips. _

Daenerys came back to herself with a jolt. This young man who looked like a taller version of Viserys was her father, Aerys the Mad King, the woman must be her mother Rhaella and the baby she was delivering must be her older brother Rhaegar. That was Summerhall as it fell.

Her father looked right at her and smiled wistfully. "I am sorry." he said and the scene froze, except for him.  
"About what?" she asked, flabbergasted.  
"About everything. – he replied - I let go, Daenerys. I let the dragon's blood consume me; it controlled me instead of me being able to control it. I failed all of you." he said softly, looking down at the frozen scene all around them. Daenerys didn't know what to say to the father she had never known and about whom she had only heard disquieting things.  
"You are so powerful, my child, you surely know how easy it would be to give in, to just let go. – he continued – And I was so afraid… I knew that it was not about me, that for the Prince that was Promised to be born I would have to die. I was not brave enough to accept it and I thought I could prevent it. How stupid of me…" he concluded with a mirthless little laugh.

Suddenly there was another person with them, a tall man in a black suit of armour with a red dragon on his breastplate. His long hair was unbound and his features were softer that Aerys', his expression melancholy.  
"It is not solely your fault, father. – the man said – I should have stopped you, forced you to step down when I could." he added, with tangible guilt.  
That was her brother Rhaegar.

Aerys snorted. "It would have made no difference and you know. For them to be made as they needed to be, we had to die. – he retorted – To build anew, one has to destroy first." he added cryptically.  
"I know, father, I know. I just wish… I wish that not so many people had to suffer for that." Rhaegar said. Daenerys was starting to feel completely out of her depth. What were those two talking about?  
"Do not worry, little sister, all will be well. – Rhaegar said, smiling softly – That which you are looking for is not here, however."  
"It is much farther down the way. – her father added – When you find it, do not let it rule you. I know you can. You'll do much better than me, I am sure of it." he added reassuringly with a nice, warm smile.  
"Than us. – Rhaegar said – Use it, little sister, you have been born to do it. Find my children and teach them. The dragon has three heads." he concluded, echoing Qaithe's words.  
"Your children are dead." she protested, uncomprehending.  
"Not all of them. You will know when you find them, the griffin and the wolf." Rhaegar said, smiling.  
Daenerys nodded, trying to store the information in her memory. Why did dead people always have to speak in riddles in her visions?

"Go now, the road is long and you do not have much time." Rhaegar advised, pointing towards the newly-reappeared blood-path.  
"I.. Thank you." she stammered, turning away, but Aerys shot towards her and gripped her in a bear hug. "I would have liked to meet you in the flesh, my child. You make me proud of you. – he whispered, crying and petting her hair – Go now, you cannot linger." he added, releasing her and wiping his face, succeeding only in smearing the soot all over the place.  
"How will I know when I have found it?" she asked, half-turning as she started to run.  
"You will know, my child. You have always known." he replied his voice fading as the scene disappeared behind her. Daenerys kept on running.

A gallery of shattered images flitted in front of her eyes as she ran. Kings and queens, princes and bastards, most silver-haired, all blood kin.

A monstrous man lay dying on a foreign shore, thinking of his failure.

A young prince, his sword nicked by countless battles in strange lands, dreamt of dragons so much that he dared the green fire and died screaming.

A tournament. Brother against brother, mace against sword. Two dragons fought. One fell even as he won and the other was shattered forever.

A fair haired man drank himself into a stupor in a seedy tavern as she passed by. He lifted his head from the scarred table and looked at her. Not through her but at her as her father and Rhaegar had done.  
"I am not what you are looking for." he said, and she nodded and kept running.

A wistful princess, bedecked in soft silks, watched as her dark-haired sons played in a pool, among the smell of orange blossoms.

A battle. Men dying all over the place, knights charging, arrows blackening the sky. Three men in red dragon armour fell, then the flying stallion charged and locked itself in fierce combat with the red raven. The grass was red with blood and, when it was over, Daenerys caught a glimpse of bone-white skin. Unable to control herself, she followed the glimpse.

For a moment, she believed the man lying on the ground, his head on the lap of a silver-haired woman, an eye gouged out, was Silchas and her heart stopped for a second, then she realised the man was too short and too human and she felt almost weak with relief.  
Both the one-eyed man and the woman turned towards her as she approached and again, she realised that they could see her. Seers in her family were a dime a dozen, apparently, she thought sarcastically.

"You have not yet found what you were looking for." the man said, sitting up. The wound on his face stopped weeping instantly, becoming dry and old.  
"I am searching." she protested, crossing her arms under her breasts.  
"I know, sweetheart. – the woman said – But it would not do for you to be so distracted." she admonished and Daenerys noticed that eyes were mismatched, one green and one indigo blue.  
Shiera and Bloodraven, she realised, the two most notorious mages of her family.

"I thought I had seen a person I know. - she replied – I'll be on my way, then." she said, turning to run.  
"You'll be too slow." Bloodraven said and she stopped and turned, quite irritated.  
"I am running as fast as I can." she retorted.  
"It is not enough. - the man said. – If you keep it like that, you will never get there in time." he added almost solemnly.  
Daenerys looked around. There was a horse nearby, maybe she could borrow it, she thought.  
"It will not do, Daenerys. It is but a memory and it would still be too slow anyway." he said, freezing her in her tracks.  
"What am I supposed to do then?" she asked, desperately.  
The man smirked. "You will have to fly." he said.  
"Fly? How?" she asked, stupefied.  
"You only need to want it, Daenerys, it is in your blood." Bloodraven instructed.  
"In my blood? But I cannot veer. Silchas said it is not possible in this world." she protested.  
"But this is not your world. This is your dream and here you can fly. – he replied – Try. I know you want to." he goaded, still smirking.  
"Yes, child, you have to fly." the woman confirmed, nodding.

"But…" Daenerys started to protest, but the man shoved her backwards roughly and she stumbled back and fell.  
"Fly. You have to. Fly or die trying." Bloodraven said and she found herself falling away, much farther than she should have to hit the grassy ground. She looked down and there was nothing beneath her, just endless, gaping darkness. She panicked for an instant, flailing wildly and hurling her choicest curses towards the pair of mages, then forced herself to calm down. It was a test and there was only one way of getting out of there. She had to veer, she had to find a way, otherwise she might find herself trapped there forever, unable to come back to her body.

She closed her eyes, there was nothing to see anyway, and tried to focus on Drogon, on how it felt when they were flying, on how his heart drummed through the scales, on the beating of his wings and the strain of his muscles, she tried to imagine feel it in herself, in her own body, tried to figure how it would feel to fly over the slavers' army and lay waste to it, saving her children.  
She wanted it so much, so intensely, but she couldn't quite reach it and, the more she fell, the less she was able to focus on it.  
Everything became fuzzy and vague, while all around her the air became colder and she felt herself falling asleep, engulfed by the darkness. She was not afraid of it: it was comforting like a mother's embrace. She felt herself slipping away and she slowly stopped fighting it.

"_Child! _– a voice called her, startling her into wakefulness – _It is not time for you to sleep yet. There are people waiting for you on the other side. Will you let them down?_" the voice asked. It was female but ageless and, strangely accented, as if every word was a song.  
"N-no. – Daenerys stuttered – But I cannot fly. I cannot veer, I just can't." she lamented, feeling helpless.  
"_You can. _– the voice said – _I shall remove the obstacle between you and yourself. You just have to want it._" she added. Daenerys nodded and tried to concentrate again on flying, on being a dragon for real, and Darkness shifted. Something shuddered through her and, all of a sudden, she was not falling anymore, huge wings catching the updraft from the abyss. She turned her head on her long, serpentine neck and looked at herself.  
Silchas and Rud had told her that the sembled form of a Soletaken looked like the person herself: Silchas was white, his brothers and kin had been black and Rud was gold-and-white, not dissimilar in colouring from Viserion. She had figured that she would be some sort of silver-and-white, like Silverwing had been, but instead she was as black as Drogon and huge.

All around her, she felt Darkness smile. "_Good. Now go back and, when you see my son, tell him that I know he will do what needs doing._" she said approvingly.  
Daenerys would have wanted to ask her who her son was, but the presence had already disappeared, leaving only emptiness behind. She beat her wings, climbing steadily upwards and soon she was over the edge of the abyss. Bloodraven was still there, but instead of looking like a somewhat battered young warrior, now he looked ancient, beyond old, and he was sitting on a throne made from a tree. No, she corrected herself, he was sitting on a live tree, in the a hollow in the trunk and the tree was growing through him, branches piercing his flesh , one even jutting out of his empty eyesocket.

"We meet again, Daenerys. I had not thought you had it in you to come back." he commented, looking smug and satisfied.  
"You bastard! – she cried – Did you want to kill me?" she asked.  
"No, but I had to test you. – he replied – You had help, but you made it and that is the crux of the matter. I guess we will meet again, in the flesh perhaps next time."  
"In the flesh? Are you still alive?" she asked, shaking her reptilian head in utter disbelief. Bloodraven was older than her great-grandfather. He must be a hundred and fifty at least.  
"In a manner of speaking. – he said with a slight smirk. – Beyond the Wall, look for the Three Eyed Crow." he instructed –Now fly, Daenerys Targaryen, fly back home. Your voyage is done."  
"Done? – she asked – What about the answers I was looking for?"  
Bloodraven smirked. "You already have them." he said and then disappeared.  
Daenerys found herself over the blood-path, alone again.

"_If we were in our world, I would have taught you how to veer and you would have remembered…_" She remembered those words, Silchas had told her that just before she had entered the dream.  
She had known that it was not possible in the real world, but Darkness had helped her overcome her disbelief and, in this dreamscape at least, she was a real dragon, she knew what a dragon knew, she remembered. She still had to get back, she knew, but she had found her answers and much more.

Darkness was right, she had a lot of people who were waiting upon her return, she could not tarry in her dreams. Beating her huge wings, Daenerys devoured the miles, following the blood-trail from above.  
There was a light ahead and she flew towards it with her head held high.


	6. Homecoming

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

**This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 05/06/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"  
**

**WARNINGS: Lemon and fluff.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.  
**

* * *

**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

Mother Dark's obvious preferences are canon, honest.

When Soletaken and other shapeshifters shapechange, they leave a distinctive spicy odour behind.

For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:

Malazan Wiki  
Encyclopedia Malazica

* * *

Silchas felt tired but there was no way he would close his eyes even for a minute during this watch. Travelling in dreams was always risky, but in this case a lot more so. Not only they were asking a lot of her, to overcome the physical limits of the reality she was accustomed to, but the atmosphere of the tent was crawling with weird energies. Spirits had been called, some quite strong, spirits of mages and seers, and they were circling around the bed, hovering over the queen. That he had to use his own blood to open the way didn't help either. It could attract unwanted attention and he was not sure that she could handle everything, unless she found her answers quickly.

Silchas sighed, feeling powerless and hating it. Asleep and defenceless, she looked as young as she was: something that should be protected, not thrust in the line of fire. She was only seventeen, for all that was sacred! She was barely more than a child and she had never known a real home or her parents, but she had already been married twice and carried on her shoulders the responsibility of an entire metropolis and all its inhabitants. Under the soft exterior, she was strong as Letherii steel, quick witted and determined to keep on going beyond what was expected, a queen like few kingdoms deserved and, according to what she told him, treacherous Mereen least of all, but for them she was risking everything in the attempt to become one with her dragon and go back to save them.

Rud handed him a cup of reinvigorating tea and he drank deep, trying to chase the weariness away. The queen's brow was beaded with drops of sweat and he leaned over to wipe it away with a cloth. So far, nothing wrong had happened and Rud had assured him that sweating was normal, an effect of the herbs. Silchas wanted to believe him. He had travelled in spirit a few times, when he was effectively trapped in the Azath and had no other means of communicating with anyone, but in the stasis field he could not be damaged and he had millennia of experience and habit to fall back to in case he lost the way. His soul was used to inhabiting his body, so to speak, and it could find its way back quite easily, like a trained pigeon, but the queen didn't have this advantage and the only thing that anchored her to herself was the trail he had opened with his own blood. It should be enough, but it could be that it wasn't.  
Silchas shook his head. He didn't want to think of it.

Suddenly, the queen convulsed on the bed, just once but violently. Silchas jumped to his feet and knelt beside the bed, ready to hold her down if need be.  
"I think it has passed. It is nothing." Rud said with a weak smile, getting nearer.  
Silchas ignored him, focusing on her, looking for signs of distress. Was that his imagination playing tricks on him or was her breathing slowing down? She had stopped sweating and now her body was trembling slightly, her skin prickled in goosebumps. Silchas grabbed her hand: it was chilled and her pulse was slowing steadily.  
"What is happening?" he asked Rud, more than a tinge of hysteria in his voice. Rud shook his head and grabbed her other hand.  
"I have no idea. – he replied – It looks like she has strayed too far from the path." he added sorrowfully.  
"Is she… Is she lost?" Silchas asked. Rud nodded and the older warrior felt a sudden sense of emptiness wash over him.  
He knew that the situation would get very sticky for both of them if she died, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. He had only wanted to help her, and he might end up killing her instead. It was beyond unfair, beyond cruel, and he wanted to scream for the injustice of it.  
"You cannot die. – he told the slowly dying, unconscious queen – You have a city to save. Come back. You have to." he said, drawing upon his warren as much as he dared, trying to reach her, wherever she was. He was draining himself to do it, he knew it, but he could withstand it, for a while, and he knew that without her, there would be no going home for him and Rud. There was no point in holding back.

He felt a somewhat familiar presence at the other end of his probing magic, something comforting, and he basked in it just for a moment, before he was violently kicked out, back into his own body and onto his ass by the force of the blow. The brazier snuffed itself, bathing the tent in darkness, but he could still see and when the queen started to breathe again with a gasp like a person who had held her breath for too long he scrambled to his knees again and took her hand in his.

She was warm again, now, Soletaken warm, her blood running like fire in her veins, and he could smell a faint scent of spices as if someone had veered far away from there. A faint smile appeared on her lips and he couldn't help but mirror it.  
She had made it, he thought with satisfaction, whishing he could see her now. She must be as beautiful in her Eleint form as she was in her human one, he thought, feeling a stirring of lust at the idea.  
"Is everything alright?" Rud asked, fumbling with the brazier and lighting it again with a flicker of Kurald Thyrllan. Silchas nodded, not trusting his voice. "She is coming back." he said finally.  
"How?" the boy asked.  
Silchas shook his head. "I have no idea. There was something with her, something helped her out." he explained as best as he could.

The queen twitched, her eyelids fluttering, then her eyes opened, unfocused and wild. She blinked repeatedly, then her eyes focused on his face.  
"Welcome back my queen…" he said softly, knowing that he must have the stupidest grin plastered on his mug, but not caring. Relief made him feel weak at the knees, it was just as well that he was already kneeling on the ground.  
"Silchas… - she murmured, somewhat sleepily – Are you real?" she asked and squeezed his hand tightly.  
"Quite, my queen. You're back." he whispered reassuringly and she smiled.  
"I veered, Silchas. I flew for real, on my own power. – she said, still smiling – I was black, like Drogon. I thought you would want to know it." she added shyly, blushing slightly. The stirring of lust returned, stronger than before, and he felt himself harden. He was not getting back to his feet until Rud removed himself from the tent, he thought, blushing as well. The queen smiled, as if overhearing his thoughts.

"How long have you two been standing guard over me?" she asked, sitting up cautiously. Silchas steadied her with a hand on her back and she leaned into his touch.  
"A few hours. – Rud replied, yawning – The Letherii tea helped, but I am feeling wrecked. I think I'll be going to sleep in a minute, if you're feeling alright." he confessed. Silchas remained silent, even if he inwardly rejoiced.  
"I am feeling reasonably good, everything considered. – she replied - Thank you for everything, Rud. You're a real friend." she told him, smiling.  
Rud shrugged, blushing slightly. "It was no trouble. – he minimised –See you tomorrow." he saluted, yawning again and slinking out of their tent and into the bloodriders' one.

The queen smiled softly and lifted up a hand, lightly caressing Silchas' face. "I had never seen you so happy before? What happened?" she asked.  
Silchas tried to keep his composure but felt heat creeping up on his face. "I was worried about your quest. I do not relish the thought of remaining in this world forever." he lied.  
The queen smiled softly and pressed her lips to his softly and briefly, then looked straight into his eyes and he knew that he could not hide his feelings from her, not now. She had caught him in the open and he didn't know whether he minded or not. She smiled again, knowingly, but said nothing and kissed him again, barely a graze of her lips, as if daring him to do more.

Silchas cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly and passionately, as if tasting her, and she moaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands fumbled with the ties of her leather vest, unlacing it and slipping it off her shoulders, caressing her skin softly as it became exposed. He cupped her breasts, stroking her nipples until she moaned into the kiss once again. He would never tire of the sounds she made in the heat of passion, he thought, and parted his lips from hers to trace her jawline and neck, tasting her, smelling her, feeling her. His mouth moved lower and she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair as he licked her nipples and reverently kissed every inch of her, lower and lower. He made her lie down on the bed and slowly pulled her leggings down on her shapely legs until she was completely bare and he drank in the sight of her, her slightly golden skin flushed, her eyes liquid and full of desire. She was so beautiful and special and she wanted him, of all people…

He felt himself smile as he stroked her inner tights, prompting her to spread her legs, and let his fingers slide to her core, tracing her silken, wet flesh and making her tremble and bite her lip to stifle a whimper. Still smiling, he leaned down to kiss her there, parting her folds with his tongue and then flicking her nub. She gasped again and twitched. Silchas looked up at her, questioningly.  
"Please…" she whimpered breathlessly and he obliged her eagerly, kissing and stroking her to the peak of delight, while the tent resonated with her moans and whimpers. He felt her body tense under his hands and then clench in waves, as her climax hit her, but he didn't stop, wanting to draw her pleasure out as much as she could handle and, before long, she was begging him to stop tormenting her and take her instead.

"Please, please. I need you… I want you inside me…" she whimpered, squirming on the bed. Another request he couldn't help but oblige, he thought, standing up with a slight protest of his knees and getting rid of his clothes as fast as he could. He was already painfully hard and the look in her eyes as he stripped, however ungracefully, was enough to make him throb. He climbed on the bed beside her, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to keep control for a while more.  
"Would you… Would you like it if I got on my hands and knees?" she asked, still a bit breathless. Silchas found himself unable to speak for a second and just managed to nod.  
"Please…" he added softly and she smiled and slowly rearranged herself on the bed, her pert backside in the air like an animal in heat. He knelt behind her on the bed and buried himself into her in a long, slow push. Glorious, this is absolutely glorious, he thought as he began moving inside her, slowly at first and progressively faster and harder as she urged him on.  
"You're beautiful, yes, you are… My queen…" he whispered, his mind slipping involuntarily to his birth language, as he felt his climax approach and suddenly it washed over him, tearing a wordless cry from his throat as he spent himself inside her. Panting, he laid his head on her back, holding her close as they both came down from so high.

Slowly he withdrew from her and let himself flop on the bed, a bit dazed. The queen collapsed beside him and curled herself into his arms, snuggling close.  
"In the dream… - she whispered – I was walking on a battlefield and I thought I saw you, wounded and bleeding. I didn't like the notion." she confessed and he held her closer, kissing the top of her head.  
"I didn't like to think that you could be lost in the spirit-world either." he whispered.  
"Bloodraven pushed me out of the trail." she explained, tracing a scar on his chest.  
"Who is that?" he asked.  
"A mage. – she replied – Some sort of very distant cousin of my great-grandfather. He looks slightly like you, except shorter. – she added and he quirked an eyebrow in surprise - He said it was a test." she concluded.  
"Which you obviously passed." he commented with a proud smile.  
The queen grimaced. "I would have failed if not for the help of Darkness." she lamented.  
"Darkness?" he asked, feeling a slight tinge of worry.  
The queen nodded. "I know it sounds like a lunatic's raving, but there was only darkness and yet a voice spoke to me. She helped me. – she replied – Now that I think of it, her voice had the same sort of strange lilt yours has. She gave me a message for her son. She said she knew he would do what was needed. – she continued – Are you him, Silchas?" she asked softly.  
Silchas froze, rigid as a statue. The force that shoved him away as he tried to reach the queen had been her! She had been so near and she had sensed him, yet she had refused him once again and had chosen to give him a message through intermediaries. What did he do wrong, this time?  
"Are you alright?" the queen asked, stroking his cheek gently.  
"Did she say anything else?" he managed to ask in a strangled, strained voice.  
The queen shook her head. "I am sorry, Silchas, I am so sorry." she whispered and he had to blink repeatedly to prevent any tears from leaking. It did not matter, she had always been like this with him, aloof and distant, he should have inured himself to her behaviour by now.

"If not for your blood she wouldn't have been there to help me, would she?" the queen asked. He shook his head. He wouldn't have bet on her presence even in the present case. His mother was not an overly caring one, why did she help the queen? Surely not for his sake. Or did she?  
"Thank you for being with me through this, all of this: the duel, riding under the sun and this vision quest, everything. Thank you Silchas." she whispered, resting the palm of her hand on his chest.  
"Daenerys…" he whispered, looking straight into her eyes.  
She smiled with genuine happiness. "You had never called me by my name before… I like how you make it sound." she commented sleepily, closing her eyes and nuzzling against him, and he blushed. He hadn't meant to do it, but around her all his walls crumbled to dust and he allowed himself to feel, leaving himself open and vulnerable, and what scared him the most was that he didn't mind it. It would hurt later, when he finally managed to get home, but now it felt perfect, he thought, listening to her slow, even breathing.

The following morning Silchas Ruin woke up to an empty bed. The sheets had cooled down, which meant she must have woken up some time before. He rubbed his bleary eyes and got up, looking for his clothes, but instead of being strewn on the floor, they had been placed at the end of the bed. A nice gesture he thought, clothing himself unhurriedly.

As he slipped out of the tent he was greeted by the familiar sight of Rud squatting next to the campfire with his breakfast, this time in the company of the queen's bloodriders. All the three young men shared a naughty smile among themselves before Rud stood up to greet him.  
"Where is the queen?" Silchas asked. He had been fully expecting to find her outside chatting with the men and her absence was worrying him ever so slightly.  
Rud pointed upwards and Silchas looked up and saw Drogon cavorting in the air, making broad, sweeping passes over the encampment. On his back he could barely discern a speck of silver but he could distinctly hear her whoops and cries of joy.  
"They have been up since dawn. She is definitely enjoying herself and, my, isn't she vocal about it?" Rud commented, giving him a slight wink. Silchas tried to hide his blush by pouring himself some tea.

"Me, Aggo and Rakharo were thinking about pitching the tent a little farther away, tonight. – he continued, teasing – We'd like to have an unbroken night of sleep, you know." he concluded, and the two bloodriders started sniggering. Silchas rolled his eyes. He knew he wouldn't hear the end of it for a while and, while it was annoying, it was not disrespectful. it was just good-natured teasing. Did they really consider him a friend, with whom they could crack jokes?  
"Good idea. – he retorted, smirking as well – You'll need your rest, my friend. Tomorrow we fly to Mereen. Aren't you excited?" he asked, teasingly, turning the game towards him.  
Rud groaned and the two dothraki guffawed, saying something among the lines of "Good shot, khal."  
A smile spread on Silchas' lips. That was a very good start for his day.


	7. Mother and Children

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

******This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 09/06/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"**

**Back to Meereen, now.  
**

**Contains shameless scaly fluff. Yes, the dragons behave quite cat-like, but reptiles are not usually the most lively creatures, so I used the next best thing as a model.**

**WARNINGS: none.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.**

* * *

**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

**Eloth is an Ancient Eleint, linked to the warrens of Maenas, Mockra and Thyr (Illusion, Mind-control and Fire)**

**For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:**

**Malazan Wiki**  
**Encyclopedia Malazica**

* * *

Ser Barristan Selmy sat straight on his chair notwithstanding his age and the torrid heat. All the Mereenese commanders were assembled for the umpteenth war council, one of the few they had had after the Yunkishmen had started hurling the corpses of the victims of the Pale Mare over the walls. Ser Barristan had commanded a sortie to burn the trebuchets and catapults, and there had been no more throwing, so far, but the contagion was spreading, slowly but surely, and in the action the Mereenese hostages had been killed and, contrary to his expectations, the dragons had not joined in. Ser Barristan grieved for Jhogo, Hero and the others, as he had grieved for Groleo, but couldn't bring himself to feel anything but relief for Daario Naharis' death. The sellsword had been a nasty fighter and a good tactician, but his notion of honour had been completely non-existent and his influence on the queen a risk too great to be countenanced. Most of the commanders agreed with his assessment of his character, even if they could not agree on anything else.

Skahaz mo Kandaq, the Shavepate, of the Brazen Beasts, Tal Toraq of the Stalwart Shields, Marselen of the Mother's Men, Symeon Stripeback of the Free Brothers, plus the seneschal Reznak mo Reznak: a rightly royal gaggle of geese, constantly arguing and fighting among themselves. The only exception was Grey Worm of the Unsullied, a competent and stoic man, but unused and unwilling to take initiative. Ser Barristan needed someone to back him up, but Grey Worm would rather take orders than issue them, and this left the aging knight alone to try to mediate the clash of personalities at the councils.

He was too old for this, too old by far, and this should have never been his duty. He should be protecting his queen, training new knights, obeying just and honourable orders, not ruling in the name of his queen, who might already be dead, according to most people. The news had done nothing to appease the oppressive climate in the city. Shavepates and freedmen looked dejected and already half-defeated and the Sons of the Harpy were feeling bolder and were on the rampage again, now that the Consort Hizdahr zo Loraq had been imprisoned. Ser Barristan often wondered if the Mereenese nobleman had been the Harpy all along, or just a catspaw.

Ser Barristan was a knight, not a politician, but, if he wanted to preserve what little his queen had built, he had to do what needed doing. He sighed. He wished for the return of his queen, but, as the saying went, if wishes were horses…  
His agreement with the Tattered Prince still stood and he was confident that the Mereneese troops could defeat the Yunkishmen with good planning and a bit of luck, but something made him reluctant to attack yet. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind which told him that he was overlooking something. Another feeling told him that it had to do with the dragons, but so far Viserion and Rhaegal had been contented with burrowing into their respective nests, terrorising the noble families and harassing the supply trains of the besieging army but nothing more.  
They had caused some casualties in the enemy forces, but only as side effects of hunting their beasts of draught and spare horses. Fortunately, even if Rhaegal was not above setting people on fire just because it could, contrary to Drogon, these two had not acquired a taste for human meat yet.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to be there, he should have been in the training yard, training his squires and the two newly made knights, the Red Lamb and Tumco Lho. He sighed.  
Judging that the argument had gone on for long enough without visible results, he thumped on the table with his hand, calling for attention.  
"My Lords, - he called severely – this is not the time for petty arguments of precedence. Winning a battle is not about who attacks first the enemy line, but it is the concerted work of all the units involved, even those who stay in the rear-guard. Discounting the Storm Crows, whose loyalty is in question, now that their leader is dead, we have five companies of foot soldiers, – he expounded – but barely any cavalry, except the dothraki, which are few."  
"And you sent most of them away in a wild goose chase." the Shavepate pointed out.  
"It is not a senseless endeavour. – Marselen protested – The queen can still be found."  
"Aye, some bones amidst dragon crap." the Shavepate commented rudely.  
Marselen shot him a scathing look but did not reply.  
"Be it as it may, - Grey Worm chimed in – this man is confident that a combined, well-planned assault will work, even if they outnumber us, however, this man would appreciate some cavalry support for the operation. This man does not fear death, - he added, unnecessarily – but would not want to waste his life unnecessarily."  
Marselen, Symeon and Tal Toraq nodded in agreement. They had great respect for Grey Worm, after all their troops had received their training at his hands.  
The Shavepate snorted. "When are they going to be back, then? We cannot wait forever." he complained.  
Ser Barristan sighed. "Soon, I think they will be back soon." he replied. They would either manage to find her or realise there was nothing left to find, he thought, even if, knowing Aggo and Rakharo, it was hard to tell when the realisation would dawn on them. They seemed to worship the queen as if she was some sort of earthbound goddess, a trait they shared with many of the freedmen. Ser Barristan didn't think it was a good thing for her. So much adulation could not be healthy, especially considering her family's "inclinations".

Probably the Shavepate was going to protest some more, but all of a sudden the doors of the council room opened. Six hands went to their weapons, while the seneschal hid himself behind the large frame of Tal Toraq, but the cause of the commotion was only one of the little cupbearers, a boy of maybe seven or eight, his black-red hair cropped close to his head. "Dancer, - ser Barristan called – what is happening? I had told you that this meeting should not be interrupted." he chided. The boy, whose real name was Dhazzar, paused with his hands on his knees, panting. He had been running.  
"The Lamb and the Lash told me to get you, ser. – the boy said – The black dragon is back." he announced.  
An astonished hush fell on the room.

"We must prepare the archers." the Shavepate said, hastening towards the door.  
"You will do no such thing." ser Barristan ordered.  
"I do not mean to kill it, just to chase it away. – the Shavepate clarified – Those beasts are a liability."  
Ser Barristan had to admit that the Shavepate had a point, but couldn't help but hope. "Let's go and have a look. – he said – We'll decide on the best course of action later."  
General agreement followed his proposal. "Dancer, show us the way." he ordered. The boy nodded and rushed down the corridor and then down the stairs, followed by all the commanders.  
Soon they found themselves in the plaza in front of the Great Pyramid, while the dragon circled overhead, lower at every pass. The streets were packed full of people: despite the inherent danger of being burned alive, everyone wanted to see the dragon coming back to the city, maybe secretly hoping that their queen would be with it.  
"Clear a space! – someone screamed from high above – We need to land! NOW!"  
"Blessed Seven! – ser Barristan exclaimed – It is the queen!"  
"The queen?" a few voices repeated among the commanders and the word spread like fire though the grass in the whole plaza. Ser Barristan and Grey Worm sent men to clear most of the area, forcing the gawkers to retreat into the surrounding streets or climb on the outside of the buildings.

The dragon banked down one last time and landed heavily, skidding on the flagstones, scrambling for purchase and hissing like a kettle, probably scared, before colliding with the side of the pyramid.  
"I told you we were too heavy for manoeuvring in such a tight space, Silchas!" the queen protested, jumping down from her perch on the dragon's back and runs to the beast's head, checking for injury. The dragon just let her do it, leaning into her touch like a monstrous, oversized, scaly cat. Ser Barristan imagined he could hear it purring.  
From the dragon's back another figure scrambled down, a tall man with red-gold hair, attired in the dothraki fashion. The man looked pale and sickly and promptly fell to his hands and knees, retching violently, and then a third figure disembarked from the dragon's back, very tall and lanky, cloaked in a dark cloak. "Either this or getting puke all over us, my queen. Even Drogon agreed." the newcomer said, in a deep, strangely accented voice.  
The queen snorted and stopped her ministrations, apparently satisfied that no real damage had been done. Drogon closed his eyes and curled upon itself, apparently falling asleep.  
"My Queen… - ser Barristan called as soon as he could find his voice – We all thought you were dead."  
The queen smiled. "Well, for a while I thought it as well. – she replied – I just got very lucky that things turned out well, ser. I am glad I'm back." she confessed, a shadow passing on her face.  
"We all are, Your Highness." ser Barristan replied, deeply relieved. She appeared unscathed and somehow, she had regained control of her dragon. Everything else was just details, for now.  
"Yes, your Highness – the seneschal confirmed, bowing low – If this man may ask, who are Your Highness' companions?"  
The queen smiled again. "They are the main reason why I managed to get back, my Lords. This is lord Silchas Ruin, - she said, pointing to the cloaked man – and that is lord Rud Elalle." she added, gesturing towards the still-kneeling man.  
"Are you alright, Rud?" she asked, concerned, kneeling beside him.  
"I will be fine, fair lady, just, please, do not ask me to fly again. I beg you." the man implored, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. The queen rubbed his back comfortingly. "I know, I know. You've been so brave, my friend. " she said gently. Ser Barristan was astonished by the easy familiarity with which the queen was treating the stranger, even if she must have met him no more than a couple of weeks before, at most. He scrutinised the stranger more closely as he got to his feet. He looked young and handsome, slightly exotic with his almond-shaped eyes of some sort of very light hazel, almost golden shade. Definitely not a dothraki, even if he was wearing the standard tribal attire. Was it possible that the queen had already replaced Naharis as a lover?

"Your Highness, - the Shavepate chimed in – welcome back. Mereen rejoices in your presence. However, we are concerned about the safety of the citizens. Shall we endeavour to chain down the beast while it sleeps?" he asked.  
The queen glared at him. "Do not even try it, Lord Shavepate. Drogon is no longer a threat and I will not countenance any restraint to be placed upon him." she admonished.  
The Shavepate bowed low in deference and stammered some excuses.  
"It is safe for him to sleep in the plaza, then, my queen?" ser Barristan asked.  
The queen seemed to be musing on it for a while. "Reasonably, at least for now. – she said – Instruct the guards to form a perimeter around the plaza and not to let anyone near him. He obeys to me, but I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone that tries, even unwittingly, to provoke him."  
"Aye, my queen. Ser Lamb, Lash organise the guards in a defensive perimeter." he ordered. The two boys nodded and set out to perform their task.  
"Ser Lamb? Did you knight him already?" asked the queen with a smile.  
"Aye, my queen, him and Tumco Lho. We are going to war." he explained.  
"I guess you have made plans, while I was away seeking answers." she said.  
Ser Barristan nodded and made to expound on the subject but the queen stopped him in his tracks. "I will hear them, dear ser, but first we need out of the sun. – she said, shooting a glance at the cloaked stranger – Seneschal, have a pavilion mounted here in the plaza and bring food and water. – she ordered and the man scurried away to relay the request - We have been on short commons for the last two days while we flew and refreshments would be appreciated." she explained.  
"We could get back to your audience chamber in the Pyramid, Your Highness." the Shavepate suggested.  
"I do not think it would be wise. I do not want Drogon to wake up alone and overreact. – she objected and the Mereenese paled visibly – I could rouse him and explain the situation to him, but he has exhausted himself in carrying the tree of us all the way from the Grass Sea. I owe him a bit of rest." she added with a motherly smile, glancing at the sleeping beast.  
"Do not worry, my queen, he will be fine. He'll wake up ravenously hungry, however, if I'm any judge. " the cloaked stranger reassured her, sneaking a bone-white, long-fingered hand out of the cloak and settling it on the queen's shoulder. She smiled amiably to the stranger and nodded, putting her hand briefly over his.  
Meanwhile, a group of servants was busy raising a canopy nearby, at what they probably considered a reasonably safe distance from the sleeping dragon. A rug was being rolled out and a low table and cushions placed over it, while other servants laid out food and drink on the table, fruit and olives, goat cheese and bread, water and fragrant fruit juice.  
"Seneschal, - the queen asked again, catching sight of the man as he organised the operations – I am afraid I will require another service of you. I need some meat to be brought over for Drogon. Any meat would do, preferably horse, if you have it." she requested. The unctuous man bowed again. "As you wish, Your Grace." he said and set out to his task.

"Well, this is settled. – the queen commented – Shall we eat then, my lords? We can discuss about battle plans while we eat." she proposed and the commanders nodded in general agreement.  
"Do you feel like eating, my friend?" she asked the sickly stranger.  
"I'll try." the man said, still a bit shaky and walked beside her and the cloaked stranger to the canopy. Ser Barristan followed suit, still feeling like he had walked in some sort of very strange dream.  
The queen sat cross-legged on a cushion and motioned for her two companions to join her. The strangers sat at either side of her and, finally, the cloaked stranger shed his cloak.  
No wonder she wanted to get them out of the sun, ser Barristan thought. The stranger was an albino and his pallid skin already showed signs of sunburn. While his younger companion looked exotic, lord Silchas looked alien, his strange features more extreme, gaunt and stern. His hair was bound in a dothraki braid revealing strange, pointed ears. Ser Barristan found himself staring and the stranger turned towards him with an unpleasant smirk. Ser Barristan shifted his gaze to his queen, who was seemingly oblivious of their exchange and intent with pressing some food into her other companion, who looked distinctively greyish.

"Mysha, - Marselen interjected – how did you manage to tame the dragon? We thought… Well, this man has to admit that we thought the worse."  
The queen left the youth alone and turned to her commander. "Drogon is my child, but I could not get through to him and he couldn't get through to me. – she replied – He thought I had abandoned him, but he still loved me. He would not hurt me, not willingly." she added, sorrow colouring her words. Ser Barristan kept his mouth shut, but all this talk sounded like madness to him. A cold sweat ran all over him. She was showing so much promise, so far…  
"The answer was in my blood. – she continued – I travelled to the land of spirits and found answers, my child. Now Drogon knows my heart and I his." she concluded.  
The three commanders of the freedmen stared at her in awe, ser Barristan just felt his heart sink further.  
"And what do the strangers have anything to do with this, Your Highness?" the Shavepate asked, warily, toying nervously with some grapes.  
The queen smiled. "They know the answer as well, my Lord, maybe better than I do. – she replied – Drogon trusts them, and I'm sure my other two children will as well. How are they, by the way? I hope no attempts have been made on their life. – she said, looking worried – We will go to them later, I must get them out of that damned pit as soon as possible. Are you along for the ride?" she asked her two companions, while a hush fell on the rest of the table.  
"By all means." Lord Silchas replied laconically, casting a thoughtful regard over the commanders.  
"As long as I do not have to fly." the other stranger replied with a hint of a smile.  
The commanders exchanged looks, but no one spoke up. Ser Barristan sighed. The task of broaching bad news would have to fall on his shoulders, then. "My queen, I am afraid this would not be possible." he said.  
The queen whipped her head towards him so fast that her neck must have hurt. "Are they…" she croaked, eyes wide with worry.  
"No, my queen. – he replied, sighing – Prince Quentyn… He tried to tame one of them to go and find you. It took him three days to die. Rhaegal and Viserion are now loose over the city." he explained.  
The queen bent over as if struck. "Quentyn… Dead… Oh, Seven, what was he thinking? – she whispered, a trembling hand in front of her mouth – The dragon's blood in him was not strong enough. They wouldn't have recognised him… Poor Quentyn… I… I am so sorry."  
Her two companions cast her worried glances as they watched her struggle to keep her composure.  
"It is not your fault, my queen. – ser Barristan said, trying to console her – He felt his mission was a failure and his desperation caused him to be rash. He was a brave boy." he added in tribute.  
"Yes, he must have been. – the queen acquiesced solemnly – I wish I could have done something for him, but this is my place, in this moment. Westeros is far and I will not abandon my people." she declared, managing to get her sorrow under control.

"We will find your children, my queen. – Lord Silchas said confidently – We still have a few days before the khalasar is here. Time enough to convince them to join the fun."  
Another moment of astonished silence fell on the assembly.  
"What khalasar?" the three freedman commanders blurted as one.  
The white-skinned stranger smirked and shot a playful glance at the queen, who replied with a reproachful stare. The man just chuckled and sipped a bit of fruit juice. "It used to be Jhaqo's, but I killed him in a duel. The queen thought we could use the help." he replied.  
Grey Worm chuckled. "It seems that this man will have the cavalry support he was asking for, after all." he commented, amused.  
"Just how many warriors are we speaking of?" ser Barristan asked, torn between suspicion and elation.  
"About two thousand blooded warriors. A bit more if we count unblooded youths." the younger stranger replied, after a silent consultation with his companion.  
"They should be here in three days or so." the other added, shrugging.  
The queen nodded. "So, let's hear you plan, then. Because you have one, don't you, my lords?" she asked.  
"We were discussing it when news of your return reached us, Your Highness." Symeon Stripeback replied.

More servants were coming in with a few butchered carcasses, among which that of a horse, inching as close as they dared to the dragon. The beast must have smelled the scent of blood, because he lazily opened one red eye. The servants scampered as fast as they could, just as well, because the dragon breathed a gout of flames, charring most of the meat, and tucked in messily, crunching on the horsemeat and gobbling it down, bones and all.  
Ser Barristan was sure he was not the only one to seriously consider running for his life. He fought to get his fear under control, while the queen and her two companions seemed unconcerned. To tell the whole truth, the white-skinned warrior seemed even slightly amused by their fear, judging from the slight smirk on his lips.

Ser Barristan steeled his nerves to stay where he was, even as the dragon threw back his serpentine head and roared, but, when the sound of huge leathery wings was heard, the commanders lost their nerve and retreated strategically and hastily to the entrance of the Great Pyramid. The two remaining dragons had not been tamed yet and they were totally unpredictable.  
Ser Barristan tried to remain where he was, but Marselen and Grey Worm grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away bodily. "Let go of me, my place is with the queen!" he protested, but the two eunuchs didn't relent.  
"This man does not want to lose a worthy commander. - Grey Worm stated simply – They are blood of the dragon, but we are not. Better to assess the situation from a defensible position." he suggested. Ser Barristan found himself nodding weakly and ordered the guards to withdraw.

Probably drawn by their sibling's call, the smaller of the two remaining beasts slowly descended on the plaza, promptly approaching the food. Ever since escaping from the pit, Viserion had grown longer and more sinuous, while still looking slender and almost delicate. Its comparatively less impressive appearance was deceptive, however. The cream-and- gold coloured dragon roared even louder than its sibling and promptly claimed one of the carcasses, searing it with its red-gold flame and starting to eat. Drogon snapped half-heartedly at it and the smaller beast snarled and hissed, rearing. The bigger beast just ignored its antics and resumed its interrupted meal, only for its sibling to start nipping at its flank almost immediately, calling for attention. When the black dragon ignored its sibling and continued eating, waving its tail irritably, Viserion decided on a more drastic course of action and tried to catch its tail. Its patience exhausted, Drogon snorted smoke from its nostrils and turned towards the white dragon, snarling and batting it away with its paws. The smaller beast rolled to its flank, exposing its underbelly and playfully batted at Drogon, making soft rumbling sounds. Drogon nipped at Viserion's neck gently, then, satisfied by the reassertion of its authority, resumed his meal.

"My, isn't she a fright?" lord Rud commented, smiling. The queen and her companions had left the canopy and were calmly watching the antics of the two dragons.  
Lord Silchas nodded. "Reminds me of your mother." he replied, smirking, to which the younger warrior frowned.  
The queen stared wide-eyed at her two children as they played, for that was what was happening: they were mock-fighting as kittens would do, if kittens were twenty feet long and breathed fire.  
"I-I had never realised Viserion was female." she said  
"Sometimes is hard to tell, - Lord Silchas explained – especially as some of them can change their gender. I think Eloth never quite decided what she wanted to be, for example." he added, which sounded so completely senseless that even the queen gaped.  
"She is smaller than I had imagined. – the white-skinned warrior continued, frowning – I am not sure she would be able to carry any adult for long. We might have to revise our plans." he commented.  
"It is just as well, because I am not getting on dragonback any soon. – lord Rud chimed in – I will talk to her and explain her the plan. I'm sure she can make a couple of passes, even if just to scare the Yunkishmen to death. Can't you, little lady?" he added, turning towards the dragon with a smile.  
Viserion hissed and clicked for a few seconds then thrust her head forwards, towards the young man, who fearlessly extended a hand towards her and patted her awkwardly but affectionately, as if she was no more dangerous than a big, mean dog.

The beating of leathery wings was heard again and, finally, Rhaegal also descended on the plaza. Ignoring its siblings and the food, the dragon faced its "mother", hissing and rearing on its hind legs, fangs gleaming, as long as a grown man's fingers. The green dragon had also grown during his freedom, more than its sister, and, while not as big as to rival Drogon, it was still big enough and ferocious enough to be absolutely terrifying, yet the queen stood undaunted. She strode calmly towards it, hands up in a peaceful gesture and ser Barristan could have sworn that he heard her hiss and make reptilian noises in response. The dragon backed down and the queen advanced again. "No, no more chains, I promise. No more prisons. Never again. You are free." she said slowly. Rhaegal bowed its neck and let her stroke its head, making a heartrending, keening sound, as if it was crying. Lord Silchas inched closer, holding a hand out, to allow the dragon to sniff it, which it did, warily, hissing. The man made some clicking noises, tilting his head to one side and, slowly, the dragon quieted, letting him pet its head. The man smiled and looked at the queen over the dragon's head and she smiled back, briefly brushing his fingers with hers. In that brief instant, something passed between them and ser Barristan reconsidered his suspicions. Maybe, even as alien as he was, this was the man who had replaced the sellsword, the knight considered, not liking the notion even a whit.

"This one is angry, my queen. – lord Silchas said – He yearns to fight." he added with satisfaction.  
"By the look in your eyes, I would say you want it too." she replied.  
"If what you told me about them is true, I will gladly help you destroy the Yunkishmen." the man said flatly. The queen bared her teeth in a feral smile. "I'm glad to hear that." she commented, then turned to the commanders. "You can come out, my Lords, it is safe, now." she called.  
Ser Barristan considered the situation for a moment: Drogon and Viserion had finished their meal and were dozing, curled messily on top of one another, while Rhaegal was content with letting its mother and the stranger pet him, making soft purring noises. He steeled himself, and strode out of the entryway, walking purposefully towards his queen.  
Behind him, the other commanders exchanged glances and followed suit.

"So, my Lords, about the plans of attack, how do my children factor in them?" she asked.  
There was a moment of silence, then Grey Worm and Marselen exchanged glances.  
"This man thinks that we could use them as if they were cavalry, attacking the flanks in passes." he proposed.  
The queen looked a question to her companions. Lord Rud shrugged, withholding his opinion, but lord Silchas nodded. "It makes sense. Eleint, that is dragons, are not good at aiming, however. – he commented – It would be better if we struck first, before the infantry closes with the enemy, to leave them in disarray, and withdraw. Your children are still very young and a well-placed arrow coming from below could be very dangerous for them." he added.  
"I had not thought about it." the queen admitted, looking slightly sick with worry.  
"All will be well, my queen. A few quick passes to destroy the choicest targets, before they manage to counteract, it is all your army needs." lord Silchas reassured her, lightly brushing a hand against hers once again.  
"Pray tell me, my lord, how do you plan to keep out of the battle, afterwards?" ser Barristan asked, slightly more antagonistic than he would have liked.  
"That's not for you to worry about, ser knight." the man replied flatly, his face an emotionless mask.  
Ser Barristan bristled, but fought to keep his composure.  
"This man wants to trust you, lord Silchas. – Grey Worm chimed in – Let the dragons strafe the enemy positions, the infantry will follow suit and engage while they are still shocked.".  
"Then the cavalry will engage from the flanks and, hopefully, the day will be won. - the queen concluded with satisfaction – I have a question for you, my Lords. What about the hostages? Surely, if we attack their lives will be in peril. We shall endeavour to free them during the first passes." she said determinedly.

Another uneasy silence fell on the assembled commanders.  
"My queen… "ser Barristan started, struggling for words. This was going to be a hard blow.  
"Your Highness. –the Shavepate chimed in – The Yunkishmen were lobbing diseased corpses over the walls, to spread the contagion. We had to attempt a sortie to destroy the siege engines. Most of the hostages are already dead." he revealed, not even trying to soften the blow.  
Ser Barristan watched her as the words sunk in. Her violet eyes widened and she staggered. Lord Silchas reached out to hold her, a worried expression on his stern face, but she slipped from his grasp.  
"Daario…" she managed to croak, looking pleadingly to ser Barristan, as if hoping that the knight would spare her this pain, that he would bring good news in spite of the odds.  
"He is dead." he replied sadly and watched his queen break.


	8. Bleeding Hearts

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.**

******This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 04/07/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"**

**Contains introspection,emo-ness and some gratuitous fight-candy at the end. This last bit was obviously inspired by the infamous "training scene" in Hellboy II and fleshed out from some awesome videos of martial artists on Youtube. I just took the showing off Up To Eleven.**

**WARNINGS: none.  
**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.**

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**IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)**

**Letheras is a city of the MBoTF setting, situated on the Letherii continent (How original, eh?).**

Starvald Demelain is the Eleint Warren, basically a dimension chock full of enraged dragons. Definitely something you do not want spilling into your own dimension.

Azath Houses, instead, are some semi-sentient entities that try to counter accumulation of excess magic, sealing gates and imprisoning powerful beings such as mages and Ascendants. They take time to take root.

Hust swords are possessed weapons forged in ancient times by the Tiste Andii. When wielded, they cackle maniacally. Letherii blue steel swords instead are forged in a way that makes vibrations resonate through their structure, so that they seem to sing or weep or cry. Definitely creepy.

**For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:**

**Malazan Wiki**  
**Encyclopedia Malazica**

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_Daario is dead…_  
The words kept echoing inside her ever since ser Barristan uttered them in the plaza. Daenerys had struggled with herself to keep a semblance of composure, even if she felt like something inside her had torn. She had staggered, feeling as if her legs wouldn't support her, and immediately Silchas was beside her, ready to catch her as she fell.

It would have been so easy to let him comfort her, enveloping her with his wiry arms and holding her tight against his chest. She would have buried her face against his skin and he would have held her as she sobbed, saying nothing, but she would have felt safe, better, just for his presence. It would have felt almost good, but it would have been wrong.

Daario was dead; she had sent him to his death by appointing him as a hostage to the Yunkishmen. She had just married with Hizdahr zo Loraq, a man she didn't love, didn't like and didn't trust, sacrificing her chances of happiness for her people, for peace. Daario would have been too much of a temptation and for that she had sent him away.

Her last words to him had been cold and angry and she would never be able to make amends, to tell him that she was sorry for distancing herself from him. He was no more. He would never smile again his crooked smile, or flirt shamelessly with her, or kiss her, making her head spin, and the worst of this was that, for the last couple of weeks or so, ever since meeting the two strangers, she had barely thought about him.

Granted, at the beginning it had been a life-or-death situation and she didn't really have time to think about him, but later… She had replaced him, had bedded another man who was not her husband without thinking about it twice and, while it had been a tactical move, she had enjoyed it far too much to be able to convince herself that it had been just expedience. She had enjoyed not just the sex, but the companionship, the emotions that inevitably attached themselves to the experience and the proof was that, even now that she should be grieving for Daario, she yearned for Silchas to comfort her.

She had betrayed Daario and this knowledge made her feel even worse about his death.

Daenerys had forced herself to stand on her own, ignoring Silchas' worried expression and had gone through the motions of a normal behaviour, instructing the guards to resume their watch over the plaza, thanking the commanders for briefing her and asking her two companions to take care of her children, then excused herself and retired to her chambers. Only when the door was closed behind her, she allowed herself to let go and cry for the loss, for everything she could have done different and would never be able to, for her guilt.

She cried until her eyes felt raw and swollen and her head pounded, until she felt so exhausted that she fell into a fitful sleep and still she yearned for white arms to wrap around her, lulling her to sweet dreams.

From the top of the black pyramid of Yherizan, Silchas Ruin could see all of Mereen.  
Even if the building Rhaegal had chosen as his abode was less than half the height of the Great Pyramid where the queen resided, still it was the tallest of the lesser pyramids and an impressive vantage point.  
From there not only he could see the hulking shape of the royal residence and the golden domes of the Temple of the Graces, shining bright in the moonlight, a few circular buildings which were supposed to be fighting pits and a few other pyramids, but he also had a clear, unbroken visual over the mouth of the Skahazadhan and the port. Cities were like trees, he mused: they needed water to grow. Letheras had the Lether and the Canals, Kharkanas, his own hometown, had the depthless Dorssan Ryl and Mereen had her river as well, glittering gently in the dark.

Silchas Ruin had lived for millennia in the unrelieved darkness of Kurald Galain, before Light was born and the moon and the stars were more than enough for him to distinguish the riot of colours of the city's brick buildings, the harpies on the crenellations of the city wall and even the Qartheen banners on the ships blockading the harbour. The city was surrounded and suffering but it was still beautiful, in an alien sort of way, as its queen.  
He would be happy to leave both as soon as he could, he thought bitterly.

The queen was in her palace, locked shut in her chambers, crying, grieving over her dead lover, refusing food, refusing to allow anyone in, even her handmaidens and her scribe.  
He should have known better than to believe that there was none to wait for her in Mereen. The Consort didn't mean anything to him, because it didn't mean anything to her, but this Daario, her lover, he meant something to her. His death tore her to pieces and he would have wanted nothing better than to hold her together, even if he didn't know why, but she refused him.  
He had been nothing but a temporary stand-in for her other lover, to be soon discarded as they reached their destination.

He had been told many times that he was not his brother, that he was not enough, but apparently he was not even enough to substitute a damnable human mercenary. It hurt, even if it shouldn't.  
She was just a short-lived human and he barely knew her, he had no right to be jealous, even less judging from how the two of them had met and what had brought them together. Tactical expedience, lust, nothing more, he told himself.  
Could he reasonably expect their agreement to be anything more than that?  
No.  
Did he?  
Yes, oh, yes.

When he had first met her, he had been captivated by her beauty and bravery, even by her brazen deception of both him and the barbarian warlord, annoying but flawlessly executed, and this, together with her bond with the Eleint, had piqued his curiosity. It was only later, when he had looked in her eyes and had seen how she carried the weight of grief and death on her shoulders even if she was so young, how for her being queen was not a privilege but a responsibility, that he had allowed himself to feel something for her, to let down his defences.  
How foolish of him.

Even now he couldn't stop thinking of how her body had fit perfectly with his, of how right it had felt to wake up beside her every morning, of how he had thought he had found someone that was like him. He could smell the Eleint blood flowing through her, just under her lightly golden skin, could feel her power. It had been oddly comforting to open himself up to her, even if he had always known that it would be a temporary arrangement and that he would have to leave, better sooner than later. He would have accepted that pain, but this, knowing that everything had been a lie, even if it had seemed so real… This was too much.

He couldn't countenance remaining at the Great Pyramid, too angry and distraught and confused, so he had followed Rhaegal to his lair and now watched the city sleep and his thoughts run in painful circles with just the green dragon and a wineskin as company.  
"_Mother grieves for the man with the blue beard, but he had not felt right. _– the dragon said – _You instead smell right, like her. You should not be here with me, but with her. She is in pain. You should console her, White Khal._"  
Silchas brought the wineskin to his lips and drank deep. "Not everything that feels right is really right, little one. - he replied, feeling his heart tear at the dragon's words – Your mother doesn't want me to console her."

Rhaegal tilted his head in perplexity at his words. "_But she likes you, I have seen it._" the dragon protested. Silchas didn't reply but drank deeper still, trying to forget how she had looked happy that very morning as they had woken up in each other's arms, wrapped in the same blanket. She had smiled and whispered in his ear that she wished that Rud would disappear for a while so that she could make love to him and he had found extremely difficult to think about anything else. Even a few hours before, when they finally landed in Mereen, she had smiled and touched his hand, exchanging suggestive glances with him.

Rhaegal hissed quietly, a sound that was rather more like a sigh, and curled to sleep. "_You soft-skins are too complicated _. – he commented – _I like you, White Khal, and I'm glad I'm going into battle with you soon._" he declared, closing his eyes and promptly falling asleep.  
Silchas found himself smiling in spite of himself. "Thank you, little one." he whispered, settling himself against his scaly flank and taking another draught of wine. Sleep would be long in coming.

The following morning, Silchas woke up as the sun filtered into Rhaegal's lair. The dragon was still soundly asleep and he just let him sleep his fill. Despite his bluster and his competition with Drogon, the dragon was not nearly big and strong enough to carry him for long and he needed to be fresh and rested for the fight.

Sighing, the Tiste Andii picked his way down the half-collapsed stairs of the pyramid and walked towards the royal residence. He hated the idea of meeting the queen, but he had to speak with Rud and with the elderly knight who seemed to be in charge.

People stared at him as he walked down the cobbled streets, but he paid them no mind. People had always stared at him whenever he happened to be, even in Kharkanas where the only thing wrong about him had been his colour. Here he was not even the same species as the citizens and word of the manner of their arrival couldn't have helped but circulate among the guards and maybe into the city proper: he wagered that by now a lot of people knew about the two strangers who arrived on dragonback with the queen. Silchas wondered what the Meereenese thought of it.

Despite the stares and the children surreptitiously following him, Silchas arrived at the Great Pyramid uncontested. The guards let him pass without asking questions, for which he was grateful. As soon as he entered in the Pyramid, the glare of the sun and the scorching heat were left behind. Inside the huge, thick walls, the air was cool and bathed in perennial twilight. Silchas cast a look around, trying to find his bearings, then decided to ask the first guards he could find about the whereabouts of ser Barristan Selmy. A light footed child was the only person he could find in sight, but she would have to do.

"Can you tell me where is ser Barristan, little one?" he asked.  
The child, a girl of maybe eight, her hair bound in cornrows, nodded quietly, then pointed towards a staircase. "In the training yard. Third level. – she said with a strange, rather guttural accent – Are you a demon?" she asked shyly, twisting her hands in her gown.  
Silchas shook his head, making the bells chime. He had completely forgotten to take them out when he had gone to sleep the previous night. The queen had always done it for him, ever since the first night and he had been very fond of their little nightly ritual.  
"You're very strange." the girl said, tilting her head to one side.  
Silchas shrugged. "You would look strange in the place where I am from." he replied.  
The girl nodded, pensively. "I would guess so. Do all people look like you, there?" she asked.  
"No, they don't, little one. I am strange even there." he replied truthfully.  
"Oh. - the girl said – It must be lonely. I am going the same way as you. I can walk with you, if you want." she offered, thrusting a hand towards him.  
Silchas felt a little baffled and stared at the girl for a second, then tried weakly to smile and took her small hand in his, nodding. "Thank you, little one." he said, attempting a smile.

The girl guided him towards the stairs, at first only glancing shyly at him, then, losing her fear as they ascended, talking precipitously about anything that came to her mind.  
"I am Kezmya zo Pahl. – she said – My father used to be one of the Great Masters, but now all the slaves are free and he is not master of anything anymore. I work for the queen, you know? I am a cupbearer."  
Silchas nodded, letting her talk and trying desperately not to think about Kettle.  
She had not even been a real child, just the seed of the Azath House where he had been imprisoned for so long, but he wished he didn't have to use her to seal the gate to Starvald Demelain in Refugium. She had looked like a child and behaved almost like a child and for that her fate was even crueller. Her sacrifice had been in vain after all, the pressure of the Eleint Warren too great for her young powers to contain and even now the Bentract Imass and Rud's father were escaping their dying world. Udinaas had entrusted his own son to his care to take him out of there, knowing that Rud wouldn't have let his world die without a fight, but what would come out of that gate was too much even for a powerful Soletaken as the boy was.

"Here we are. - the girl said finally, standing in front of a heavy double door. - You are very silent, you know? – she added thoughtfully – Well, good day to you, my lord, I have chores to do." she saluted, sauntering away before he could do anything more than raise a hand in salute.

From behind the door he could hear the unmistakable noise of weapons clashing, young voices and laughter. Someone was having a good time in there, he thought, opening the door.  
He was not surprised when he found Rud among a small crowd of young men, laughing and sharing jokes. There were four meereenese, three of which looked like brothers, a black-skinned young man with odd facial scarifications and one that looked like a dothraki, except without a braid, but there was a distinct absence of dour-faced old knights.

"Silchas! – Rud exclaimed – What are you doing here?" he asked good-naturedly.  
"I was looking for you. And for ser Selmy." he replied.  
"The knight is not here. A runner asking for him and he left a few minutes ago. – he informed, unnecessarily – I guess he will be back shortly. But you can talk to me, if you want." he added, looking at him as if he expected a repetition of the scene he had witnessed after their encounter with Olar Ethil.

Silchas shook his head. He was not really in the mood for talking with his companion at the moment, he didn't want to hear empty words of comfort. He would just ignore the pain and it would go away, eventually. It always did. "It was nothing that cannot wait. – he said – I'll wait for Selmy, then."  
Rud shrugged and turned back to his companions, trading gossip and jokes. By the looks of it, the boys had been sparring or training and now were intent at chilling out, while ser Barristan was away.  
How it was possible that Rud was always able to make friends wherever he was, Silchas asked himself, sighing. He looked around the training room, trying to distract himself.

The room had a high, vaulted ceiling with apertures high on the walls, that might serve to disperse heat, and was big enough to let a whole company train at the same time. The walls were lined with weapon racks and targets and the brickwork floor was shiny with wear.

The knight might be coming soon or might be taking his time in returning, he mused, sitting on a bench and sighing. Usually, he was good at waiting, but at the moment, he felt still too angry and wounded to stay still and quiet. He considered going back the way he had come and calling later on the knight, but he really didn't feel like chasing the old man around and remaining in the training room was the easiest way to catch him.

Silchas sighed and stood up, shedding the dothraki leather vest, then walked to the centre of the floor and unsheathed his swords. He twirled them expertly in his hands, relishing in their perfect balance and in the slight moan they emitted in cutting through the air. Letherii Blue Steel weapons would sing in the heat of battle, blows resonating through their structure, a sound that was only marginally less disquieting than the manic cackle of Hust swords. Decidedly, the Letherii who had given him the swords knew his business, he thought gratefully, sinking into a low guard stance.

Ever since his youth, even when he hadn't yet had to contend with the call of Eleint blood clamouring for violence, he had always found solace in going through the forms in the training yard, striving for speed and grace. It required discipline and all his concentration and prevented him from thinking too hard about things that upset him. It was not the same thing as being able to veer and cauterize the emotional wounds with rage and chaos, but it helped.

The world narrowed down to the present moment as he flowed from one stance to the next, slashing, parrying and lunging, fighting an imaginary, faceless opponent. He felt his muscles straining, sweat beading on his forehead, he heard the sound of his footsteps on the hard floor, his own heartbeat, the chiming of the dothraki bells, nothing more. His mind was empty, his whole being projected into the motion.  
He felt almost peaceful.

"It looks like your cousin knows his business, Rud." Tumco Lho commented, glancing at the centre of the room.  
"Pah, he is just showing off. – the Red Lamb objected – I'd like to see him do that in a real fight. It looks like he's dancing." he added, sarcastically.  
Rud shrugged. What Silchas was doing looked rather like a dance, indeed, all broad sweeping movements and elegance, but he knew that the man could fight viciously, he had seen it.  
"He's doing forms, you wool-head." Lash interjected, swatting the other boy on the head.  
"Forms are stupid and worth nothing in combat. - the lazhareen retorted – We could best any of those sissy nobleborn who spend their time practicing forms. You know it." he added.  
"We know it. – commented Shabaqo, one of the three meereenese brothers – Still, this stranger is giving a good show."  
"A bit on the theatrical side." his brother Rezzak objected.  
"Good technique, still." commented the third brother, Kezzar.

Rud stood silent, smiling faintly at the antics of the other young warriors. He was suitably impressed by his companion's display of martial prowess and discipline but, more than that, he was worried about him. When the queen had broken under the news of the demise of a mercenary leader, Rud thought he could smell a rat, but then palace gossip confirmed it: the man had been the queen's lover. To say that Silchas had taken that piece of information badly would have been an understatement. Rud had yet to witness any overt display of emotion, but he knew that bitterness and anger bubbled under the calm exterior like lava in the crater of a dormant volcano.

Even if Silchas would never admit it even to himself, Rud knew that, while he pretended to go on with the queen's ruse just out of expedience and declared that they were just allies, the Andii had grown to care a great deal for the queen.  
Except for the fact that the two of them didn't seem able to keep their hands off each other, it was not blatant, his companion was not an overly emotional man, but Rud could read the subtle hints: the way he actually smiled and not smirked at her, his slightly disquieting possessiveness when Rud had flown with her alone, the way he accepted any form of casual touching from her, as if relishing in her nearness.

His reaction when the queen had almost perished in the dreamquest had put a nice cap on the whole matter in Rud's opinion: Silchas had been falling, or had already fallen, for the queen and she seemed to requite his feelings, at least until their arrival in Meereen. Rud recalled how the queen and Silchas had stood together, side by side, petting Rhaegal after his temper tantrum, looking every inch like loving parents consoling their child. He was surprised no one else had noticed, but maybe they were too busy eying warily the three Eleint to look for it.

The queen's reaction must have hit him hard, Rud mused as he watched Silchas increase the pace of his routine, the violence of his movements, until then coated under a layer of elegance, coming to the forefront. Even then, the Andii had been ready to help her, to console her, only she had distanced herself from him, which was understandable, given the circumstances: she must have wanted to grieve privately, to have a bit of breathing room. Silchas, however, couldn't have helped but perceive it as rejection. He probably thought that he had made a fool of himself in believing that they had been more than allies, but Rud sensed that the truth was much more complicated than this.

The excited exclamations of his newfound friends startled him out of his musings. He blinked, refocusing on his surroundings. Lash and the brothers were whooping and cheering loudly as Silchas flowed on the tiled floor, spinning and sweeping his swords in sharp trajectories, twirling them around his head and torso in a dizzying array, then reversed the grip and skewered an imaginary opponent sneaking behind him and then reversed the grip again, advancing and retreating without breaking the rhythm. He was fighting with his whole body, intercalating slashes and thrusts of his swords with spinning kicks and rolls, tumbling out of the way of imaginary ripostes and bouncing back to his feet, ready to attack once more. His red eyes smouldered in concentration, his mouth was set in a thin, grim line and he didn't seem to notice the loud cheering and the comments. Rud shook his head: he had the impression that Silchas was trying to vent his temper by wearing himself out. The problem was that he must have a lot of energy left to spend, being a Soletaken and all.

"Your cuz is impressive. – Tumco Lho commented with admiration – I can believe that he did three dothraki in. Where did he learn to do that?" he asked, eyes sparkling in interest. Rud shrugged as another acrobatic evasive move brought a renewed ragged cheer from the others. A small crowd of gawkers was forming at the entrance, servants and off-duty guardsmen and even a couple of the queen's cupbearers. "He would have made a good pit-fighter. – the Red Lamb conceded grudgingly – Showy enough to attract the crowds." he added with a sneer. The Sothyrosi snorted and looked on the verge of replying quite cuttingly, which could spark a long argument between the two, as Rud had already managed to notice.

An elderly but still energetic voice, the voice of someone used to making himself heard on a battlefield, cut through the crowd.  
"What is happening here? – the voice asked – Disperse immediately. This is not a sideshow!" he scolded. The crowd at the door melted into nothing ness and ser Barristan made his entrance, looking quite irritated. The old warrior looked sternly upon the young warriors, as if reprimanding them for idling about instead of training as he had instructed before leaving, then his gaze swept on the training yard and he frowned, gazing with open hostility at Silchas. The knight's hands tightened into fists. He stepped towards the edge of the floor and called loudly and angrily for Silchas, who didn't acknowledge him.

The Andii continued the form he had been performing into a low double slash, then straightened, executed a high parry and kicked upwards, throwing himself in a backwards flip to land lightly in a low stance, swords crossed in front of him in a double parry. Only then he straightened again, slamming his swords into their scabbards and turning towards the knight with a flat, emotionless expression.  
"Ser Selmy. – Silchas said quietly, with a sketchy, almost perfunctory bow – What can I do for you?"  
The knight evidently took the delay in acknowledging his call and the haughty manner as deliberate insults and his mood soured even further.  
"I need a word in private with you, my Lord." the knight gritted, enunciating the title in a manner that seemed to implicate that he didn't think the stranger deserved it.  
Rud shook his head. He must have missed something vital, because he didn't understand the hostility of the knight towards his companion.  
One thing he knew for certain, given the mood Silchas must be in at the moment, things were not looking up.


End file.
